Doom 2099 Issues 41 to 44 The Storm
by DoomScribe
Summary: Attacked in cyberspace, Doom and his allies struggle to save the data vault of Myridia in the real world and on the 'net while a storm rages around them. Will a new superhero be their savior, or their Doom?
1. Chapter 1 Elemental

**Doom 2099 UG Issue #41**

_Gypsy, Sorcerer, Scientist, King ..._ The man the 20th century vilified and called Doctor Doom has traveled to the year 2099 where the superheroes that once thwarted his plans at world conquest are no more. But his once pristine country of Latveria has been reduced to an inhospitable pool of toxic sludge by a madman wielding unearthly powers. Now Doom must renew his power from abroad in the strange new world of the future and in the realm of computer cyberspace, all while asserting his right to rule as ... DOOM 2099!

**THE STORM, Part One "Elemental"**

It was nearly midday, but across the warm seas of the Indian Ocean, a swirling cyclone of rain laden clouds was slowly blotting out the light from the sun. Strong winds blew the deep blue of the ocean into peaks of silvery white caps. The vast ocean that surrounded the island of Myridia turned suddenly dark and cold. Waves crashed against the stone fortified breakwaters surrounding the capital city of Chenaya, their deep ocean borne energy passing through that craggy barrier to jostle ancient sailing vessels and sleek modern hovercraft anchored in her protected harbor. Wind blown leaves and debris danced through the deserted streets of this modern island nation, crashing against the mirrored glass windows in fitful gusts. A single tightly cowled figure ran fleetingly between tall buildings. The remainder of the residents had all fled inside, seeking shelter from the coming storm.

Inside the central control building, a storm of a different sort was escalating. Hundreds of desperate men and women were fighting valiantly against a hidden enemy that threatened to destroy their very livelihood. Information was the commodity that Myridia brokered, and her once formidable database had been invaded by a corporate marauder known to them only as the Neon Angel. Fast on the heels of the Angel, scores of independent net gliders had sensed that the Myridian fortress had been cracked. Myridian security cyber team forces had charged into the breach, bravely fighting to stem the surge of leaking data that was being sucked out of her bit by bit by the bloodthirsty vultures. Meanwhile, the Angel was maliciously playing havoc with their systems, evading all efforts at eradication, playing the security system that had been, up to that point, the envy of all cyber vaults, like she was playing the flute. She danced through triple redundant fire walls via invisible shunts, unleashed her wicked havoc, then disappeared, taunting them every step of the way, and all the while waiting. Waiting for her true nemesis to enter the fray.

Orchestrating the efforts of cyber warriors, net gliders, and security specialists, were the four Master Programmers, or MP's, hovering above the massive floor on a floating platform 65 feet above a honeycomb network of computer cubicles and power stations. The MP's each monitored a section of the workers on the floor below, networking with their team leaders via laser light beams of information that crisscrossed the room in a complex, multi-colored web of instantaneous communication and billion bit per second data exchange. The MP's efforts in turn were being monitored by a giant of a man, an armored figure that sat upon a throne-like chair above them at the center of the platform. Doom had only recently revealed himself as the new leader of this proud and independent Nation, having quietly succeeded General Czerny several months past. Now they all knew who the true power here was, and if there was any resentment in the minds or hearts of the Myridian people, they dared not show it. Instead his every gesture was followed, and his every word obeyed without question. The reputation of the masked despot in the verdant cape had indeed preceded him, for there was no bit of data present on the planet that had not at one time passed through Myridia.

Doom silently stepped down from his elevated throne and walked towards MP #1, carefully scrutinizing a hand held data processor as he walked. Although they continued their work, the MP's snatched nervous glances at the silently pacing monarch in their midst. Doom appeared not to notice, but he saw everything that was occurring around him, and it only added to his mounting anger. He cursed at himself for not having examined Myridia's security systems closer upon his arrival. He had assumed from their reputation and his previous experience that those defenses could not be breached, and that deadly assumption may now have sounded the death knell for this prosperous nation. It was certainly the goal of the Neon Angel, whom he also knew as the evil Margaretta Von Geisterstadt, that if she could not kill him outright, as she had attempted to do by trapping him in the cybernetic hell of his dying Latveria [_see Doom 2099 UG #40_], that she would destroy his financial and physical base of operations. The crux of this senseless mayhem was one petty woman's revenge for having been scorned! He leaned heavily over MP #1's control board. Even now, with his Empire slowly crumbling, he still refused to play her games.

"Fortify the relays at sector seven," he instructed dispassionately. "The static pulse at the backup field for 29 is clearly a diversionary tactic. Strengthen the data grids at the remote outposts for 12Z9 and prepare for manned extraction."

"Yes, my Lord," MP #1 answered as he obediently relayed the instructions.

Doom looked out over the crowded floor below him, stepping fearlessly to the edge of the high platform. He had also failed to assess the war readiness of this operation. He scoffed at their lack of mechanization. Despite the advances of the last hundred years, mankind had too often balked at totally eliminating the human element from their systems. He made a mental note to automate more of these security and back-up procedures once this situation was rectified. Below him, technicians worked frantically to maintain power systems being disrupted by the combination of the storm outside and the incessant manipulations of the Neon Angel. If her intent was to create panic, she was surely succeeding. It had been decades since the Myridian enviro-field platforms had failed to contain and turn back nature's fury, and for many of the workers below it was the first time they had ever seen a storm this close. The lights flickered as a distant thunderbolt streaked silently through the dark skies. The booming thunder that followed soon after shook the windows high above. Doom's severe countenance deepened behind his mask as some of the workers stopped their labors to gaze at the lashing of the wind outside. These Myridians were compliant enough for now, but they weren't Latverians, and many would need to learn that Doom was a far greater fury than any cyclone that Nature could deliver. They would soon know that his word was the Law here now. He would not be surprised if one or more of these milling minions could have been in league with the Neon Angel, since her initial attack had been so swift and so decisive. He clenched his jaw tightly. First his trusted Fortune, and now this. This treachery was becoming a trend that he was determined to end!

"Number Four!" he yelled angrily as he turned back to the control board. "Lock down that bypass system relay, idiot! Pay attention dolt!"

MP #4, the youngest of the Programmers, had also been distracted by the storm. "Y-Yes, Master," he said nervously as he focused back on his control grid, feeling his insides bind in a sinewy knot at the unwanted attention from the menacingly pacing figure in their midst.

"The Neon Angel will use every resource in her power to destroy us!" Doom lectured solemnly. "If you cannot perform your duties with vigilance you will be replaced!"

MP #4 felt the sweat on his brow as Doom stood close behind him, but he did not look back nor move his eyes a fraction from the systems he was monitoring. He sighed ever so quietly as he finally sensed Doom moving away from him. Another crack of thunder close overhead caused him to cringe involuntarily, but this time he did not look up. He had learned his lesson.

MP #1 stepped close, auspiciously to check a related system monitor. "Don't worry," the older man whispered comfortingly. "It'll be alright."

Doom continued to analyze the information on his hand held microwave receiver, and he did not look up as he paced thoughtfully along the edge of the enormous floating platform. The Myridians working below gazed up to see him there, as the flashes of lightning cast his shadow over them all.

In the depths of cyberspace, far away and removed from the storm in the real world, cyber soldiers were fearlessly battling marauding net gliders who had driven opportunistically into the many breaches in the Myridian security shield left by the Neon Angel. Some were there for the valuable information to be gained, others just for the sheer thrill of the glide. But as soon as their presence was detected, squadrons of Myridia's own cyber net warriors tracked them down, booting them off the system as their archetypes were disintegrated with weapons that mimicked those used by their real world counterparts. Many of these hackers would "wake-up" offline with a nasty post de-resolution headache, but some of them used sophisticated re-integration programs which moments later had them back into the fray, playing the game over and over with a seeming endless supply of "lives". For the Myridian warriors, it was a desperate battle that was wearing them down. Somehow those breaches would have to be sealed!

On the edges of one such battlefield, a lone figure stopped momentarily, drawn by a nearly insatiable curiosity. He was tall and handsome, long light brown hair neatly tied back and nearly concealed beneath a wide brim hat. His trade mark trench coat hung loosely from his broad shoulders. His sharp blue eyes took in the battle before him with a critical understanding. Duke Stratosphere knew all about this massive strike being launched against the Myridian database. He had heard the first flurries of action and sensed the resulting feeding frenzy long before it had become the celebrated coup of the moment for a thousand wanna-be cyber jockeys. He had avoided it like the plague. Far too high profile, and as such too risky for someone like him who's reputation was already made. Still, the maelstrom of net activity was a convenient cover for a particularly satisfying hack that he had been planning for months. Having made good his escape and obscured his tracks within the nexus of net activity, something in the fury before him made him pause.

"Curiosity," he told himself as he hovered silently in the shadows of a cybernetic bridge, "killed the cat." He knew that he should just leave now. No sense getting involved, his intuition warned. Once this was over, Myridia would no longer be a major player on the world board, he could see no way out of it now. Their systems were too badly compromised, their information monopoly was doomed. He watched as a small squadron of Myridian soldiers valiantly fought back an enormous tide of oddly organized net marauders. The attack of the net gliders was uncharacteristically choreographed, and a viral bomb was launched that caught one of the defenders off-guard. The poor soldier's archetype was enveloped by a particularly nasty form of de-rezzing that would probably cause the human it represented to spew chunks for the next three days. Although the battle took place in cyberspace, the interface that connected some of the high functioning archetypes used by the elite cyber warriors and hackers alike was accessed via the user's brain stem. It was said that the death of an archetype could in fact cause the death of the user, under the right set of circumstances. The longer the user spent in cyberspace, the more real the electronic environment became to them. The brain often couldn't tell the difference.

Duke cringed, "That's gotta hurt," he said to himself with a slight smile, knowing that his own anti-viral programming would spare him such a nasty fate. The other Myridian soldiers lost precious minutes containing the virus before it spread to other systems. Duke shook his head sadly, and he half turned to leave . . . and then he saw the markings on their uniforms. That symbol, a golden stylized D on a green shield, was one he'd seen before. It was the badge worn by the soldiers of Doom! He paused. This was a different situation altogether, perhaps worth investigating. Doom was a man around whom big things happened. This Duke had learned first hand when he first encountered the archetypes of Doom and the net glider Wire. Besides, Duke weakly justified to himself, what harm could come from just watching? Even as he thought it, he knew that whatever happened, he was already in too deep.

Ephraim Cvijanovic paced quickly through the crowded honeycomb of workers that had mobbed the main floor of Central Programming. He carried two cups of steaming liquid, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief as he slipped into the Sector 3 Corps dive-unit 12 post, grateful for having made his way through the maze without spilling any. He laid the cup with the tea bag still steeped in the hot water at an empty desk, and then moved over a few stations to deliver the second cup. He paused in front of the cyber station for a moment, staring unselfconsciously at the woman who lay there. He no longer felt the stinging pangs of voyeuristic guilt for watching her. It was his job to monitor them, after all. That's what he told himself he would say, if anyone ever asked.

Lying blissfully unaware of the havoc around her was a startlingly beautiful young woman. Her eyes were closed, as if asleep. The calm expression on her face betrayed none of the emotional and physical anguish which she was now experiencing. But the EEG display next to her head showed otherwise. The fury of her brain wave patterns confirmed that she was deeply involved in a cyberspace mission. She was a net glider, and she and her three companions in the cyber booths beside her were flying through cyberspace on a surreal adventure that Ephraim could never imagine and would never attempt to duplicate. He was too old, he told himself, and . . . afraid. Some people just weren't made for that kind of out-of-body experience, he rationalized weakly. Besides, his work in the real world was just as valuable, if not nearly as glamorous. He placed the coffee beside her work station. She would need it when she off-lined, he reasoned to himself, all the while knowing that she was far too young and spirited to ever see anything in him other than a friendly co-worker. They were from two different worlds, cast together by mere happenstance. He gazed at her face for a moment longer, and then quickly returned to his workstation.

"Hey, Ephraim, where's my bagel?"

One of the net gliders in his group had just off-lined, and was apparently none the worse for the wear. Ephraim cringed, but returned silently to his desk, wiping the remains of rain water from his mostly bare head with a clean white handkerchief as he sat down. He ignored the taunt and subsequent laughter from his younger co-workers, and attempted to concentrate on his duties, but, the damage had already been done.

"Hey Ephraim, if you wanted to fly, Ed has a great holo-vid to practice on . . . almost as good as flying the 'net!" Another net glider was laughing at him, referring to his recent encounter with nanite disintegration during the collapse of the Point [_see Doom 2099 UG#40_].

"Shock no, Mahlon," Ed replied, "Ephraim can't enter the zone without his mommy's permission!"

"Hey, errand-boy," another one chimed in, "I heard you had to change your pants!" That comment brought another peal of laughter from the other young men. Ephraim grimaced, putting on a weakly good natured front, his eyes still locked on his board.

"That's ok, Justin," Mahlon answered, "'cause now he's Doom's personal footstool!"

"Yeah," Justin joked cruelly, "he's been promoted from being the MP's personal rug to walk all over!"

Ephraim sighed. "He saved my life," was all he said. But the quiet comment was lost in the loud commotion as the young men continued to boisterously joke among themselves. They were just burning excess energy that built up from completing such a strenuous trip through the 'net, he reasoned.

"Shut up, you guys," a female voice piped in.

Ephraim felt his heart sink. How much had she heard? He looked up to see her facing him, quietly sipping at the warm brew.

"Thanks for the coffee, Ephraim," she said kindly. She turned to her net companions, and shot them a fierce look. "You guys were pathetic out there," she criticized. "Take your break and make it quick. We're diving again in twenty!"

Outside of her presence the other gliders would smirk and call her "The Commander" in sarcastic tones. But in truth she did hold seniority over all of them, and her skill and natural leadership in the 'net was unchallenged. Except by Justin Malinovsky, the young hot head who fancied himself as the slickest glider this side of the Duke. Justin was good and he knew it, and certain that he could go freelance any time; he was constantly pushing the limits of those in charge. So far it had worked, for he was too valuable for the MP's to kick out of the Corps.

"Gimme a break, Elisabeth," Justin whined. "We've been down for six hours this shift alone. Let Bruskies' crew handle it!"

"Bruskies crew is pulling double shifts, too," Elisabeth countered calmly as she made notes in her mission log. She had worked with Justin long enough to know how to not let him get to her. "Nobody's going anywhere until the MP's call all clear." She looked at Ephraim for confirmation. "Isn't that right, Ephraim?"

Ephraim flushed slightly and reached for his handkerchief, but answered in a calm voice, "That was what I understood."

"You've just wasted five minutes of your break time arguing about it, Justin," Elisabeth added coolly.

Justin wisely held his tongue as he hustled out of the unit station, but he bumped Ephraim's chair roughly as he passed. "Wise up, lover boy," he whispered hatefully. "You can be everybody's yes-man but you're a shockin' bit-head if you think anybody really cares what a spud like you thinks! Vid this man, you ain't gonna fly if'n you can't take the dive! So keep your freakin' trap shut!"

Ephraim watched the brash young man go, but said nothing. Ephraim tried to avoid any confrontational situations, even if it meant swallowing what little remained of his pride. He removed his handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped his bald head.

The MP's on the high platform were feeling more and more the bitter urgency of their fate. Their efforts to turn back the tide had stalled, and they were locked in a frail holding pattern against the Neon Angel. Doom was not pleased.

Doom leaned over one console and muttered, "She's taunting us, daring me to enter cyberspace and come after her personally."

Overhearing, MP #3 offered, "We can set up a cyber terminal here for you sir," he said helpfully. "If you want, sir."

"No," Doom answered, almost angrily. "Not . . . yet." He referred again to his hand held data board. He mused for a moment. "Number One, I want you to use a cold boot at relay 9 to close the breach at that juncture. That will isolate the power systems for the entire sector."

"Master," MP #1 informed delicately, "we've got two squads of security gliders in there, and they'll be trapped. If they can't return to safe cyberspace, they'll be vegetables . . . "

"Hmm," Doom knew this of course, and was weighing the value of attempting to extricate their troops over the cost of alerting Margaretta to his plans. He decided to compromise. "Send them a coded message. Give them two minutes to retreat. Discreetly, Number One, two minutes is all I can give!"

"Yes, Master."

Doom paced slowly past MP #1 as he carried out his orders, and surveyed the lighted world board with the keen eye of a veteran combat general. "Number 3," Doom continued, his eyes still fixed on the world map before him. "Cut off all communications with the east coast. Shut down the power grids at 45-Bravo through Gamma point six. Isolate those taps; I want all subsystems dead and cold. Set up a containment field at junctures alpha 96 and 98."

"What?" MP #3 referred to his board. "You can't do that! That's crazy! The entire east coast of Africa will be without power! In this storm, that's a death sentence for hundreds of people!"

Doom said nothing as he looked over his shoulder at the nearly hysterical programmer. The data processor in his right hand was crushed by an almost involuntary spasm as the metal gauntlet closed into a tight fist. Tiny shards of green plastic pieces rained delicately onto the floor.

In the chaotic storm of cyber war, Duke Stratosphere watched in awed silence as the battlefield before him began to dissolve. Slowly at first, then more rapidly as the combatant's frenzied fighting reached a crescendo. Some of the Myridian cyber-corps had slipped out a back door, but many others remained as the back door slowly shrank to an impassable dimension, sealing behind them with a soundless metallic finality. Desperate, the cyber soldiers who remained initiated a de-resolution program on their own archetypes, hopeful that the data bits that formed their consciousness would escape through tiny side streams into the real world. For some, it might work, for others, the pulsating spasms of their archetype bodies, floating transparent above the ruined cyber field, indicated that their program was flawed. Death would be a kinder fate than this infinite non-existence.

The net marauders who had attacked this outpost began to realize that fate may also soon be theirs, and so they too activated their personal retrieval programs. One or two, less well prepared, found themselves stranded on a rapidly diminishing data island. One tried to jump for it, only to fall into the black abyss that opened up around him, swallowing his flailing archetype like Jonah the great Biblical whale. The second suffered no better a fate, holding on until at last there was nothing more to hold onto, before falling into infinity. Somewhere in the real world, their real bodies would fall into a coma that would only end when their flesh finally died.

When there was no one left at all, Duke finally emerged from the shadows. He casually tossed a problem bomb into the battlefield, and suddenly the data stream solidified. The de-resolution program stopped, and form and structure returned as the bomb retrieved the deleted data from the mists of cyber reality. It was a temporary fix, and he kept an eye on the countdown display as the problem program slowly wound down. It would give him just enough time to look around. Fearlessly he stepped onto the now empty battlefield.

The cyber space where this battle had taken place was represented by an old village, surrounded by high stone walls. The half shattered buildings were held up by crumbling gray rock walls. Shattered windows and ancient wooden doors hanging from broken frames reminded him of old photos from war-torn Europe a half century ago. Cobblestone streets were older even than that. Duke, however, did not recognize this place. That was no surprise, since it could represent anything from someplace real, or a fantasy place, to a programmer's game field or a scene from a storybook. It was almost medieval in appearance, and Duke had a cold sense of dislocation, of being out of place here. He could not fathom it. The portal through which the cyber soldiers had fled was sealed tight; there was no sense in trying to pursue that avenue. There wasn't enough time, anyway. Duke eyed the program countdown warily. It would be really rookie if he got trapped here.

Duke wandered through the empty streets with an apparent ease, but his eyes were diligently combing every corner for a clue. There had to be something of value here, something that the Neon Angel wanted. Something too that Doom was willing to sacrifice a dozen soldiers just to make sure no one else got their hands on it. But if this ancient city held some valuable secret, could he find it in time? The village had also been the site of a battle, not unlike the one he had just witnessed. He came upon the first dead bodies quite by surprise, half buried under the crumbled remains of a stone wall. Then he began to see more. Some were in a uniform that he could not place, others in a strange silvery armor. Again he had the sense that this was not just a game sim, that this had been real. But the bodies were just the relic memory left in a small part of an enormously complex program.

He crossed an open courtyard past a large fountain. He was running out of time. If there was something hidden here, it could be anywhere. If he could resurrect one of the soldiers, they might be able to tell him something. One of the armored soldiers had collapsed by the fountain. He examined the body, but it was too far gone. With more time, maybe . . . he straightened up, and placed his foot on the edge of the fountain, leaning on his knee as he looked around one last time. It was no use, he thought . . . then he saw it.

Hidden within the still waters of the fountain was a small black box, jammed into a crack between the marble statues, and barely visible beneath the surface of the water. But it was so out of place there, so unusual, that it instantly captured his attention. Could it be of value? There was no way of knowing, but he wasn't going to leave without it. Trusting his instincts, he reached for it. It was stuck. He pulled harder, but it wouldn't budge. He eyed his time clock . . . almost up. He had to hurry. He lifted a short metal pike from underneath the dead soldier's body, and wedged it in the crack behind the box. Levering on the pike with his body weight, the box finally broke free as Duke tripped backwards and landed on his rear in the stone courtyard. As he pushed himself up to stand, his hand went through the once solid body of the dead soldier!

"Uh oh . . ." he said slowly to himself, "time's up!"

He grabbed the black box and stuffed it into his coat pocket without even looking at it. Running now, his long legs covering great distances with each stride, he headed for the stone bridge. He looked back to see the town disappearing behind him, and a great dissolving emptiness that was catching up to him! He hurdled a low stone wall and whistled as he broke into the open field.

"Chaos!" he yelled, "get over here!"

The cybernetic horse, his programmed steed of speed, appeared instantly on the bridge. It was programmed to respond to his commands, but he had also given it an intelligence matrix equivalent to a real horse, with an innate self-preservation initiation program. Chaos balked at jumping down from the bridge into the empty cyberspace that had opened up below it.

Duke saw the problem as he ran. Ten feet of empty space, the same black hole that had swallowed up the two net gliders previously, now separated him from the bridge. The bridge was, for the moment, solid. He didn't slow down his run, and didn't look back. The space was getting wider! Approaching the edge at a dead run, he leaped, hurtling his archetype into the void!

Ephraim had already programmed the dive coordinates into the cyber net matrix, and was monitoring the other net activity in his program unit with only half his consciousness. This was no greater challenge than programming a holo-vid recorder. Capable and efficient, but socially awkward, Ephraim had been passed over for promotion so many times he had lost count. He didn't even care anymore, actually. Convinced that this was as good as it would ever get, he had accepted his lot in life. He was content now to watch the young dive leader, Elisabeth Lamiere, with her long dark hair and high cheekbones, an exotic beauty who captivated all around her with her easy grace. He watched her whenever he could, whenever he knew that she could not see him. He was watching her now, with a dreamy fascination bordering on obsessive. The world around him melted away, the noise and commotion of the central programming floor was a distant universe across an infinite void. He studied the back of her neck, the way her thick, wavy hair bunched at the brightly colored ribbon she tied it with. The curve of her jaw where it met her long, thin neck. The dark space behind her ear where one small slot, a tiny cyber port, was neatly hidden. The bounce of her hair as she moved her head, moved suddenly up from her board, then turned to face Ephraim, and just as quickly to turn away, looking up and pointing.

It was then that Ephraim snapped out of his dreamy trance and heard the screams of terror and sudden dismay as people all around him were standing at their stations, pointing and looking up into the sky. Elisabeth's slender hand went slowly to her mouth. Something plastic and metallic behind him dropped with a crash, but nobody turned to see what it was. Everybody's attention was focused up. Ephraim slowly raised his eyes, and saw at last the source of their anxiety.

Three stories up, Doom stood at the very edge of the MP's floating platform. His green cape caught the gentle updraft that swirled around the hovering citadel and billowed softly behind him. His silvery armor reflected the pulsing laser light beams that exited the platform from below and crisscrossed the enormous hall 60 feet above the stunned work force. Extended away from his body at arm's length and dangling precariously over the edge, was the body of one of the Master Programmers. From his vantage point, Ephraim could tell that it was MP #3. Doom was holding him there, gripping the wretched man's throat in one vice-like metal hand. The MP was still alive, seized by that formidable grasp, fighting to keep his airway open as he struggled to hold on to that massive arm for fear of falling. His legs kicked wildly, as his eyes bulged with mortal terror. His captor was immobile, as silent and utterly fearsome as a medieval stone gargoyle on a castle ledge.

"Oh my god, Ephraim," Elisabeth whispered quietly beside him. "What's going to happen?"

Ephraim shrugged, then turned ever so slightly to notice how close she was standing to him now. His heart leapt into his throat. He looked up again at the violent drama above. If Doom dropped the MP, he would be dead before he hit the ground, cut to ribbons by the intersecting lasers above them. Ephraim knew from personal experience that their new ruler could just as easily snap the man's neck in that powerful grip. Everybody there was watching.

Doom eyed the struggling MP with malicious intent. Then he saw what was happening below him, and his scowl grew larger. Thinking that the fearsome mask was directed solely at him, MP #3's eyes began to roll back into his head.

"By my ancestors . . .!" Doom cursed between clenched teeth. He carefully weighed his options, then stepped away from the edge of the platform. Angered by this unsettling turn of events, he threw the limp form of the Programmer back into the work station where the body skidded along the floor and crashed into a display panel. The former MP #3 clutched his head and cowered there in the corner, uncertain as to what had spared him from imminent death, and equally unsure as to whether that was a better fate. Doom ignored him and leaned again out over the edge of the platform.

"Tell them to get back to work," he ordered brusquely. "NOW, Number One!"

"Yes, Master," MP #1 answered quickly, immediately relaying the instructions to his station commanders.

Doom had been unprepared for their reaction to this public display of power. It was too early to assert himself in such an unsympathetic manner. Once this crisis was averted however, then they would understand the depth of his commitment, and the limits of his mercy for challenging his word. He turned back to the cowering programmer and gestured to security, "Take him away," he said. "Make sure you escort him through the hall."

"But that's out of the way, my lord," one of the guards said sheepishly.

Doom's fierce eyes locked on him wordlessly.

"Y - yes, Master," the guard quickly answered. "As you say, sir."

"Number One, we need a replacement programmer," Doom ordered dispassionately.

"Yes, Master," MP #1 replied, "I'm working on it now."

Doom eyed the work floor below with narrow eyed suspicion. "Bring up Ephraim Cvijanovic," he demanded suddenly. "I want him at Number Three."

"Uh, sir, pardon me saying," MP #1 started slowly, "but there are better candidates for the position . . ."

"I've read his profile, Number One," Doom responded calmly, "are you saying he's incapable of performing the work?"

"No sir," MP #1 replied, not sure how far he should take this.

"Then get him up here," was Doom's curt reply.

"Yes, sir."

**Cyberspace.**

"Pull, Chaos! Back boy, back!"

Duke Stratosphere was holding on by his fingernails. His desperate leap had taken him to the top ledge of the stone bridge. He had managed to catch hold of the low stone wall that bordered the bridge, but his feet were left dangling over the abyss. His loyal steed Chaos had approached close enough for him to grab a swinging rein with one hand. Obeying his voice, the horse program pulled mightily backwards, dragging Duke up and onto the bridge, and out of the jaws of oblivion. As soon as Duke was secure on solid ground, he checked his pocket. Despite the rough treatment, the mysterious black box was still there. He mounted up quickly, there was no time to examine it now. He urged Chaos toward a safe link, leaping deftly away from the all encompassing white-out that was consuming this corner of cyberspace. Duke turned back and smiled slyly, amazed once more at his uncanny luck.

**Myridia.**

Ephraim could hardly believe his luck. He had watched with the others in disbelief as a cuffed and muzzled MP #3 was escorted out of the building by the burly security guards. Whispers of "Traitor" and "Treachery" and "Conspiracy" followed in his wake, with further whispers about how formidable Doom must be. The fear and horror at seeing the Programmer dangling by the throat above them had been deftly replaced by a newfound awe and respect. Almost immediately thereafter, Ephraim was summoned to the Master Programmer's platform.

He could not imagine, what would the MP's want him for now?

He still didn't believe it, even when they handed him the Programmer's head set and sat him down at the console. He half expected someone to ask him to go get them some coffee. Instead, someone else brought him a fresh cup of tea. He ran his hand along the shiny edge of the monitoring station, the long rows of blinking lights and displays lighted his face with an almost childlike delight. If he craned his neck ever so slightly to the right, he could look down from the high platform and see the Sector 3 unit where he had worked virtually unnoticed for nearly fifteen long years. He tried to see Elisabeth and the others. Even though he knew that they would be insanely jealous (especially young Justin), he missed them already. He sent Elisabeth a quick message, just to let her know he was really there. Doom was back there, just behind him in the shadows of his new throne. He felt a strange and compelling gratitude to that enigmatic armored king of the gypsies. King of Myridia, now, he reminded himself. Then there was a flurry of activity, and he was suddenly having to really concentrate on his work. There would be no more time for daydreaming.

The storm outside continued to lash the island nation, and the Neon Angel had yet to give up her torment of their slowly recovering systems. On the high windows directly above them, the MP's could see the wind driven rain that penetrated the darkness outside. There came a fierce banging suddenly against the windows above, echoing loudly throughout the large hall. Something big up there had broken loose, and was banging as the wind drove it against glass.

Ephraim looked up instinctively, and his face went white.

"Security, get someone up there to clear that out!" MP #1 ordered angrily. "The Master has a conference call from the South African Counsel in five minutes!"

The security guard looked up at the high windows apprehensively, his fear evident. No one really wanted to go out there on the roof in this storm. The guard looked up into the inky blackness, clearly thinking that if he waited long enough, maybe the wind would knock whatever it was up there loose.

The incessant banging continued. Behind them, Doom was lost in some deep study.

Ephraim stood up. "Number One, I'll go," he offered with uncharacteristic assertiveness.

"Ephraim . . . I mean, Number Three," MP #1 stated calmly, "that's not necessary." As if on cue, the banging got louder.

"I've been up there before," Ephraim added, "and I think I know what it is. It won't take but a minute."

It seemed as if the noise would never stop. MP #1 relented. "Very well," he sighed, "make it quick!"

"Yes, sir," Ephraim replied, and ran to the lift, so anxious to fix the problem that he forgot to remove his cyberspace headset as he left.

Every boy has got to have a hobby, he remembered his mother had told him as he rode the lift to the roof. Pigeons weren't much of a hobby for a boy of the twenty-first century, but it kept his mother happy that he was doing something, and it kept him away from the bullies that constantly tormented him on the streets below his apartment. Years later when they had built the new Central Programming building, they had included a roof top platform for the air handling equipment that was a perfect location for his growing coop. Ephraim Cvijanovic had surreptitiously moved his pigeon coop to that high and desolate aerie. Now one of the doors had broken loose in the fierce storm. The door was jammed into a short metal upright on the roof, and it was banging with each gust of wind onto the slanted windows high above the central hall. Ephraim closed his coat and ducked his head against the force of the driving rain as he stepped onto the recessed notch in the slanted roof. His secret had been safe among the few others that dared to frequent this rooftop haven. Now that he was an MP, Ephraim realized that it would be exceedingly poor form to have the pigeon coop discovered by building security.

"Odin's beard!" Ephraim exclaimed softly to himself as he assessed the situation. The broken door was caught on a metal post, and from the platform's edge he couldn't reach it. He lifted himself up onto the slanted glass and braced his right foot against a raised block. He tried not to think of the edge of the building and the long drop to the ground should he fall. He grabbed a short metal upright at the edge of the window with his left hand, and pulled himself slowly across the window glass. The rain pelted his face, stinging his eyes mercilessly. Maybe he should have let security handle this, he thought, choking suddenly on his fear.

"No," he told himself, "you can do this. It's right there. Just get it!"

His left leg dangled just above the sanctuary of the platform, balancing his weight precariously as his toe pushed off from that level landing. Spread-eagle across the tall glass windows, he focused on his goal, just beyond his right hand. He reached tentatively for the wood and wire door. His fingers touched the edge of the wood, just as the wind pushed it farther away. He stretched again, sliding dangerously across the glass. He barely held on to the wood frame with his fingertips. He could see the Programmers below him, and far below that the entire floor of the great hall. It seemed somehow surreal from this perspective. Doom had just walked out onto the platform, and was activating the holo-vid communications link. Ephraim looked back to the door, his fingers just scarcely keeping it from rattling against the glass. The wind whipped furiously at his sides and he reached just a little further. Finally! He grasped the frame firmly!

Doom was addressing the South African Counsel by means of a holo-vid. The ancient ministers, wizened white men with white hair and unnatural complexions, were obviously infuriated by the power outages that Doom had ordered in an attempt to combat the Neon Angel. The breakdown of systems that were reliant on Myridian information management had left them isolated and insecure, relying for the first time in decades on their own resources. Bottom line, it was costing them money. They didn't like that.

"This is an outrage, Doom!" one of the particularly livid men was saying. "We demand you return us to full capacity immediately!"

"Quite right," another said in thick accent. "This storm has all of us at its mercy. There is no power for the hospitals except for emergency generators, no heat, no uplinks available, the water is no longer safe, and looters are beginning to prowl our cities. This is completely unacceptable!"

Doom crossed his arms in undisguised contempt. "Your ancestors of a hundred years past were far better equipped to manage the vagaries of the natural world than you seem to be. If you're cold, I suggest that you reference a text on how to build a fire. Your power will be returned when Doom decides that the time is right!"

"Of all the . . ." one of the ministers was about to curse Doom's ancestors.

The conversation was suddenly interrupted by a brilliant flash of light, followed immediately by a penetrating crack of thunder that shook the building with its thunderous waves of sound. The lights went dark again for a moment, and then flickered back on.

"Lightning . . ." someone said in the hushed darkness.

"That was close!"

"Doom? Are you there? What the bloody hell is going on there?" the voice of the minister crackled in the darkness.

Doom looked around him, unfazed by the close strike as he directed his staff to maintain the holo-vid connection. The picture returned, fuzzy at first, then clearer. "We are experiencing some of the same weather that has caused you so much concern, Minister," he explained. "As you can see, it has not paralyzed our efforts here as it seems to have . . . yours . . . what the . . .?"

"Master," MP #1 stood up, and was staring at the video display with slack-jawed disbelief. "Is that . . ? How could that be . . .? Ephraim . . .?"

"Who is this man?" one of the Ministers stood up and was backing away from a man who had appeared suddenly behind them. "Guards! Get this man out of here!"

"Oh, my goodness, I'm terribly sorry," Ephraim stuttered and backed away, bumping into another of the dignitaries.

"Now see here young man," the elder statesman was saying as he reached out to push him away. "Ow!" he exclaimed suddenly and pulled his hand rapidly away. His hand turned red, blistering before his eyes.

"Oh, excuse me," Ephraim stated. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to . . ." He was confused, he wasn't sure where he was. His jacket was smoking slightly, and burning hot as the South African dignitary had discovered. He looked towards the vid display, where he saw Doom and the other MP's. How had he got there? "Master?" he said quietly

"Ephraim, what has happened? Speak up, man!" Doom ordered forcefully.

"I don't rightly know," Ephraim stated, now sitting at his chair at the Programmer's station. Doom whirled around to face him in studied awe. The South Africans were up in arms again, accusing Doom of having sent an otherworldly spy. But the spy was no longer there, he was here. Doom slammed a fist into the communications control, instantly terminating the connection.

"I was on the roof . . . there was a flash of light, and then I was in that strange room." Ephraim spoke slowly. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. "Now I'm here, and I don't feel quite right." He placed the piece of cloth on his console, and as soon as he let go of it, it began to disintegrate, floating away into two dimensional bits of focused light. He was fascinated, and also very afraid. He grabbed for it quickly, and it reintegrated instantly in his hand. He looked at the cloth as if for the first time. It seemed solid enough.

In a flash he was gone again.

Unaware of what was going on in the Master Programmer's suite, Elisabeth and her crew had already re-entered cyberspace. They were busy manipulating a new barrier program over one of the shield breaks when Ephraim appeared on the other side of the transparent shield.

Edward was the first to see him. "Hey, look who's here! Call your programmer, EC, you're on the wrong side of the shield!"

Justin looked up with surprise. "Ephraim doesn't surf . . .?"

"Elisabeth, I need your help . . ." Ephraim said anxiously.

"Ephraim, what are you doing here?" Elisabeth cautiously approached the shield. His archetype was strange, glowing with a silvery light and energy she had never seen before.

"You're disoriented is all, the first time will do that. Just off-line, you'll be fine."

"How'd he get this deep his first time?" Mahlon asked suspiciously.

"I can't off-line . . . I'm here, really, I mean . . ."

"Don't touch the shield, Ephraim, you'll de-rez !" Elisabeth warned, but too late. She watched in wonder as he passed through the shield, unaffected.

"You see, I'm real," Ephraim said, "at least, I think I am."

"But that's impossible . . ."

Then he was gone. . .

. . . traveling the laser light beams of communication circuits till he once again stood in front of Doom and the other MP's, an instant after he'd disappeared.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ephraim stated dizzily, collapsing in his chair.

Doom quickly put it together. He approached Ephraim slowly, analyzing the shimmering waves of energy he could pick up through his armor's sensors. The instant he disappeared they had tracked him, following his energy signature as it covered vast stretches of limitless space in a fraction of a second. Ephraim had traveled instantaneously through the communication lines. Not his archetype, him! Much as one would send an archetype through cyber space, only he had done it with his body. And his body had appeared at the other end, seemingly as solid as he was now. The possibilities began to click off rapidly inside Doom's brain.

Ephraim too, began to put it together. The heat he felt inside was the residual energy of a bolt of natural energy that should have fried him to a crisp. Connected to the metallic satellite uplink he had held on to, and directed by the cyber link headset he still wore, he had somehow been transformed. He could feel it in his skin, it wasn't quite skin, anymore, it was warm but shimmery, almost metallic. Somehow the enormous energies of the storm outside had changed him into something other than human. He had become, the Elemental!

"Ephraim, you have just become the world's greatest living hyperlink!" Doom stated slowly. "Congratulations. You have just learned how to fly!"

Ephraim looked up at the armored ruler in amazement. "Oh, my."

_To be continued!_

"_**Our Torments also may in length of Time,**_

_**Become our Elements."**_

_**Milton's Paradise Lost**_

DS

January 27, 1997


	2. Chapter 2 Fallen Angel

**Doom 2099 UG Issue #42**

_Gypsy, Sorcerer, Scientist, King ..._ The man the 20th century vilified and called Doctor Doom has traveled to the year 2099 where the superheroes that once thwarted his plans at world conquest are no more. But his once pristine country of Latveria has been reduced to an inhospitable pool of toxic sludge by a madman wielding unearthly powers. Now Doom must renew his power from abroad in the strange new world of the future and in the realm of computer cyberspace, all while asserting his right to rule as ... DOOM 2099!

**THE STORM, Part Two**

"**Fallen Angel"**

Myridia, off the coast of East Africa. Yesterday Evening.

Elisabeth Lamiere was putting the finishing touches on her outfit for the evening, a pair of dangling earrings that matched her silky dress perfectly and accentuated her long slender

neck. She stepped back from the mirror to assess her attire. She pouted just a little, wondering

if the cut of the dress was perhaps a little too low for a formal event such as this, and then fretting once more that the evening gown was too old and out of style, she smoothed it nervously over her trim waist. The iridescent fabric clung to the contours of her shape like molasses, shimmering as it caught the light to reveal a rainbow of colors on top of the brilliant turquoise base. The warm bronze of her bare arms complemented the colors with perfect harmony. It was one of her favorite dresses.

"Well, it's not like I get invited to State's dinners every week," she muttered to herself. "The least the Master Programmers could do is give a girl some time to go shopping."

"Pardon me, madam?" her holographic butler, a Jarvis 99 program, appeared in a glowing flash of opaque light behind her. He was an impeccably proper 20th century English butler, complete with starched black suit and stiff upper lip. She had modified his programming so that he was no longer ashamed to stand by as she dressed, but he still managed to disappear. She had gotten used to his quirky eccentricities.

"What do you think, Jarvis?" she turned around and asked him. "Is this outfit ok?"

"You look absolutely radiant, my dear," Jarvis answered charmingly. He was, of course, programmed to respond that way.

"Yes, but is it ok to meet . . . uhh . . . I guess you could call him a king?" Elisabeth turned back to her mirror and brushed her long black hair rapidly several times until it glistened with a luster all it's own. She could hardly believe how nervous she was.

Jarvis coughed uneasily and stated diplomatically, "My lady, the bodice may be a tad too revealing. Perhaps if you were to compliment the dress with an appropriate wrap, or a light shawl . . . ?"

"Oh, Jarvis," she smirked coyly, "you can be such a prude sometimes! It's positively medieval." She rolled her eyes in false disdain. She had completely forgotten her similar reservations about the dress only moments before. Grabbing a small purse she headed hurriedly for the door of her sparsely furnished apartment. She called back to Jarvis as she left, "Lock up behind me, I don't know how late I'll be."

Cyberspace, three days ago.

Duke Stratosphere was deep in concentration. A look of intense seriousness creased his usually carefree brow. He wasn't used to being stumped by some mere Program. He had to have overlooked something, something simple, something obvious. Something not yet developed? No, impossible! He had access to every conceivable information retrieval program on the net, and some that were not yet released that he had obtained through his covert channels. Plus more than a few of his own invention. Still, he was unable to open the Box.

The black box floated in the surreal cyberspace landscape in front of Duke. It was smooth black on all six sides, not a mark or a seam or a single flaw blemished the surface. Precisely fifteen centimeters on each side, the polished black finish betrayed nothing of its purpose or its origin. Duke examined it closely again, and for the hundredth time nothing but his own reflection appeared there. The information inside the Program remained infuriatingly out of reach. Frustrated, he pulled a large hammer out from the cyber mists and began pounding on the box with uncharacteristic fury. Nothing happened. Not so much as a scratch marred that impenetrable veneer. For an instant Duke contemplated a chainsaw . . . a tightly focused laser, or maybe a nuke . . . At this point he would just as soon blow the box to smithereens and try to salvage what remained of it's contents later. Perhaps he should have let the thing dissolve in the disintegration of that ancient corner of Myridian cyberspace where he had found it [_see Last issue_]. Then he stopped and stepped back as a better idea struck him. As much as he hated to admit it, he might need help on this one. And he knew just where to get it.

Off-lining, Duke's consciousness was transported back to his secret hideaway, a secured apartment in a quiet coastal town on the Eastern Seaboard of the USA. He unplugged himself from his cybernetic jack, and ejected the tiny disk that held the program that represented the Box. He stared at it intently. Was he really going to go to all this trouble to retrieve some mystery information that he had no idea what it was? For all he knew, it could be the recipe for pea soup! Yet, like a wayward cat, his curiosity was piqued. There was something valuable there, someone had gone to a lot of trouble to lock it tightly away. He knew that if it was valuable to the two titans known as Margaretta Von Geisterstadt and the mysterious entity known as Doom, then it was a coup that would make his other hacks look like panhandling in comparison. He was going to find out what it was, if it was the last thing he did. He leaned back in his chair and smiled at last. The challenge ahead of him was nearly as exciting as the thought of finally finding out the mystery of the box!

Myridia. Last night.

Elisabeth stood patiently in the large dining hall. No other guests had as yet arrived, and their host was also conspicuously absent. She was uncomfortably nervous, but was trying hard not to show it. A number of servants floated unhurriedly about the large room. At the banquet table, a sumptuous feast had been laid out, and its rich aroma filled the hall. She was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, for nothing there looked or smelled like synth food. The ham on the center table looked like a real ham. At least, that's what she thought, never having actually seen a real ham. But she had seen pictures. There were fresh vegetables, too, some of which she could not identify. The entire spread was clearly worth a fortune, and there was enough food to feed a small army. Yet, there were only two place settings carefully arranged at the head of the main table. Real wax candles burned on a silver candelabrum. The utensils also were silver, the plates were fine porcelain. She had looked closely but did not touch, catching the eye of one of the two white-coated chefs who stood patiently beside the table. They had watched her like hawks as she approached the table, but they had said nothing, not even chatting among themselves since she had arrived. She turned away from the table with a sigh to admire the view from an enormous arched window that dominated the east wall. The ocean stretched out before her to the horizon. The cascading sunset over the mountains to the west was lighting the sky in brilliant hues of vivid pink and ultramarine. Then, without fanfare or warning, Doom entered the room.

He strode across the long hall with the precision of a drum major, his long green cape lightly aloft behind him. As he swept up to her like a tidal wave, she was enveloped by a surprising sense of fear. In an instant he was beside her and in that same instant the succulent meal, the brilliant sky, the narrow eyed cooks, were all swept away and forgotten. He filled the room with his presence, and she caught her breath and held it unconsciously. His armor gleamed like polished silver, and his muscles rippled revealingly beneath the blue metal armored cloth that formed his body suit. He was much taller than she had thought, towering over her 5' 4" frame like a goliath. He stopped in front of her, and focused the red lenses of his silvery mask piercingly on her. His mask was fixed and cold, totally unreadable, but Elisabeth sensed that he could see right through her. Timidly, she extended her hand.

"Lord Doom . . ." she stated quietly, uncertainly.

He grasped her hand in his, and lifting it to his lips in a mock kiss he bowed elegantly. His touch was gentle, his gesture unquestionably sincere. She blushed despite herself.

"Greetings, my lady," he intoned deeply. His voice, though deep and not raised, was filled with a certainty and confidence that betrayed more than a little of his true nature: he was a man accustomed to the ways of power.

"I apologize for the delay," he was stating calmly. She didn't believe it but accepted that he was expected to say it. He didn't offer any further explanation. "Please, be seated," he gestured toward the table.

Elisabeth didn't move right away. "I'm sorry, milord," she said, "I thought that the other Programmers were going to be here as well. Isn't Ephraim coming?"

"Yes, well, the other Programmers were called away on an emergency," Doom lied smoothly. "It seems our facilities are still in need of some attention. But you needn't let that concern you when my chef has prepared such a magnificent repast." Doom still held onto her hand, and gallantly placed it on his arm as he guided her to the table. She noticed with surprise that the armor wasn't at all cold as she had expected. It was warm, almost like real skin. "You and I have much to discuss, "he continued easily, "our mutual friend Ephraim Cvijanovic being first and foremost among them."

"Oh, Ephraim has been acting very strange, since he acquired these powers," Elisabeth explained shakily. "He's not usually like this. He's really quite, harmless . . . but, well, he's just not suited to cyberspace. Some people are like that, you know? I have had to tell hundreds of would be gliders that they just couldn't cut it, and Ephraim is a great . . . administrator . . . But he's had to jump into the deep end before he's learned how to tread water and he's no longer grounded in the real world and . . ." she realized suddenly that she was babbling. Doom appeared not to have noticed as he stood silently beside her. "Please don't hold it against him. It's all been, so . . . unexpected for him."

"You, on the other hand, excel at dealing with the unexpected," Doom stated with calm certainty. He was standing very close to her.

Elisabeth grasped the back of the chair. "What do you mean?" She was still not completely at ease, unsure for the first time as to why she had been invited here.

"I have been looking over the reports from your supervisors," Doom answered evasively. "You have excelled as both a team leader and an innovator in the glider program." He marched toward the large window as he spoke and looked out over the fading sunset, his hands clasped behind his back. "You have great ambition, you are lacking only in direction. You have come far, you could go even farther, but you have been stymied by the limits of your vision. I can change that. I can offer you much more, but you must be willing to trust me."

Elisabeth looked at that broad back, dark against the bright sky beyond. "I'm happy with what I'm doing, " she said cautiously. "Are you asking me to become a Master Programmer?"

Doom turned smartly on his heel and approached the table. He walked past Elisabeth and addressed the two cooks directly. "Leave us," he ordered forcefully. The servants did not question nor hesitate but turned instantly and exited the room, taking the remaining servants with them. Suddenly the two of them were alone together. Doom faced Elisabeth again, leaning easily against the edge of the heavy table, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Come now," he continued. "The MP's are peons compared to what is really available to one such as you. You are not one to limit yourself to a perfunctory title whose exalted position in the hierarchy belies the meaningless drivel forced upon one who will, ultimately, always be a slave to the computer. That kind of day to day drudgery would be a waste to one of your . . . considerable talents."

"But the MP's control our whole operation," Elisabeth protested. "I mean, other than you, what else is there?"

"The computer controls the MP's, my dear," Doom approached closer. "What if you could control the computer, nay, all of cyberspace, with but a thought? What use would the MP's be then?"

"You mean. . . . like Ephraim."

"Yes!" Doom answered slowly. "You are a smart woman." He reached up to cup her delicate chin gently in his metal shrouded hand. "Smart, beautiful, strong, and ambitious. Like Cleopatra, with whom you share ancestry."

Elisabeth blushed and lowered her eyes. He spoke like he knew her, and she felt suddenly naked and defenseless.

"I could offer you power beyond your wildest dreams," he continued. "Ephraim has only barely scratched the surface of his potential. One such as you, could take the essence of his power far beyond anything ever imagined. A new form of life, an existence that knows no boundaries. Eternal youth, eternal beauty. With me there to guide you," he tempted effortlessly, "you could surpass even the Paloma program in your mastery of the cyber world."

"I have no interest in becoming a program," Elisabeth countered with conviction. She eyed him with only a little suspicion. "What use is mastery over the cyber world if you are lost to this world?"

"That is the beauty of it, my dear," Doom purred easily, "you will be blessed with a dual existence, able to go from one world to the next bound neither by man nor machine. Jumping off at any point to re-enter the world of flesh at will. Soon we will strip away even the boundaries of time and space. Imagine worlds far removed from this one, open for the first time to human exploration!" Doom tactfully left out the other word that crossed his mind . . . "Conquest!" He continued, "Net gliding will become passé, and you will be the queen of a new domain, a herald for the next century."

"Is it . . . possible?" Elisabeth was trembling. She did not know whether it was from excitement, or fear. He was standing very close. She was aware of his hand on her shoulder and the heat from his body passing through her.

"Yes." his voice was soft, muted. "Will you trust me?"

Elisabeth's voice was a breathless whisper she barely heard herself. "Yes."

Two Days ago. The Myridian cybervaults.

The creature now calling himself Elemental, once known only as Ephraim Cvijanovic, was having a busy day. Even though he no longer had any real sense of day or night. Yet over the last week, he had single-handedly repaired Myridia's cracked and broken security shield. The enormous data base that had once been viewed as an impenetrable fortress had been restored completely to its former glory with only minimal losses. The pundits who had predicted the fall of Myridia had been summarily silenced. All breaches had been sealed; all of the intruders had been evicted. All that is, except one. The Neon Angel, Margaretta Von Geisterstadt, still lurked in these halls of data, evading all efforts at containment or eradication.

She was using a random access program that had the security forces and gliders fooled, chasing shadows throughout cyberspace. She was no longer able to control the systems, Doom had seen to that, but her presence was blamed for any number of unusual glitches that plagued their operations. She wasn't yet ready to leave, and Elemental was unable to convince her to go.

"My dear, sweet boy," she crooned impishly as Elemental stood before her in the dungeon she had created in this corner of the Myridian database. Here in cyberspace the Neon Angel icon was a fair representation of the woman. She had long, wavy dark hair, and favored seductive, revealing outerwear of black lace and silk. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously under heavy lashes, but her red lips smiled provocatively. "Do be a dear and rub my feet," she extended her delicate white toes towards Ephraim. The nails were painted black. "I've had such a terrible day being chased by Doom's goon squad . . . I may just have to turn something off again." Her smile widened with malicious intent.

"No!" Elemental cried. He stepped nervously away from that well turned leg, as if it were a snake. "Please. Haven't you caused enough trouble as it is? Why don't you just go?"

Despite his new powers, Elemental was still loathe to use lethal force, or force of any kind for that matter. He had relied solely on his uncanny ability to track and follow the intruders through cyberspace, side stepping normal paths that would delay any other glider for hours, if not days. Then there was his ability to re-materialize anywhere there was an open line. If Ephraim had possessed an ounce of malice, this power alone could have changed the face of the planet in mere minutes.

There had been other changes in him as well. Over the last week, Elemental's skin had transformed and evolved so that he now appeared less human, and more metallic. To those few who still had contact with him in the real world, this was not just an affectation of a computer icon, this was the real Ephraim. Or at least what remained of him. Because the real Ephraim was also the icon, he had crossed the barrier into the cyber world as none had ever done before him. His skin had begun to take on a slight silvery cast, and his eyes had changed from a dull hazel to a brilliant blue. He had lost his original baggy clothes to de-resolution when he wasn't paying attention one night, and so he now wore a tightly fitting body suit of unstable molecules. The suit accentuated his bony build, revealing the curving ribs and the jutting protrusions of shoulder blade and spine. He was not an imposing figure, and Margaretta had no idea the extent of his real power.

"Oh, now, now, don't burst a vessel," she teased shamelessly. "I'm just having fun . . . Don't you like to have fun, little man?" She cornered him and began rubbing his head with her hands like she was petting a cat. He tried to step back as she pressed herself close against him, but her hands kept him close until he could feel the sweat creeping down the middle of his back.

"You are such a strange one . . ." she mused quietly, and then added, "but no matter. Tell your Master, tell that wicked, wicked Doom up there, that I'm not done with him yet. Tell him to keep his errand boys safe in their beds. I will leave only when he's met me here, in this . . . hallowed ground." She laughed fiendishly, and then she was gone.

Elemental watched the space where she'd been. He could follow her, but what was the use? She would tease him again and touch him in that way that made what was left of his skin crawl. She was beautiful, but she frightened him more than anything. She had easily thwarted his efforts to gently eradicate her from their systems, and he could not convince her to leave. The others had been easy, once he had found them. But the Neon Angel would not be bounced, no matter how closely he trailed her. He sighed. Doom would not be pleased. He sat down to wait for the rest of security forces to arrive.

Almost 20 minutes later, what seemed like an eternity to Elemental, Justin Malinovksy and Mahlon Guerrero squeezed through the block walls of the room, their icons breaking through that cybernetic barrier by carefully navigating the finite flaws in the rock and mortar. It had taken them the better part of an hour, and all of their skill. Except there was no one in the room save Elemental, the once all too human data monitor that these two had, in the recent past, treated with undisguised disdain.

"Where is she? " Justin blurted out. He glanced wildly about the room, realizing that once again their quarry had escaped. "Shocking pusbag! I coulda swore we had her this time!"

Mahlon sat with naked frustration onto the bench next to Elemental. "Did we miss her by much, Eph? You know where she went this time?" he asked morosely, his brown curls falling into his eyes as he spoke.

"She's headed on," Elemental answered cryptically. His eyes didn't meet either of his companions, but stared vacantly into space. He rubbed his bald head with one hand in an imitation of an absent minded gesture that had once comforted him, a lifetime ago. "You'll never catch her," he added, then said, "I've got something I have to do." With that he stepped through the block wall as if walking through water, and was gone.

"Wait!" Justin cried, "You can't just . . . ! Shock it!" Justin pounded his fist against the wall, and yelled at it furiously, "This bites, you know that Ephraim goddamn-all-mighty Elemental! It Bites!" He looked at Mahlon who eyed him with mute amusement. "What are you lookin' at ratbiter!" Justin yelled, then turned back around and pounded the wall once more with his fist.

Elemental appeared beside Elisabeth with a flash. She was preparing to hook up to her cyber terminal, and he touched her lightly on the shoulder. She jumped, still unaccustomed to his rapid comings and goings. "Oh!" She exclaimed, and then added, "You startled me, Ephraim."

He smiled timidly. "I'm sorry, I forget . . ." Here in the real world, his starkly metallic skin was more noticeable amid the natural hues of pinks and browns in the humans that passed by. The humans who stared, curious and fearful at the strange glowing creature in their midst. Elemental sensed their stares, and he knew their fears intimately. After all, he had seen their messages. How foolish of them to send words of disdain, letters of frightened terror, ignorant questions and tasteless jokes through a medium over which he was the absolute master. Yet for the first time in his life, Elemental found that he no longer cared what others thought of him. He cared only for Elisabeth's feelings. If she could accept him, now, he felt that maybe he could finally reveal his true feelings for her.

"Here, I brought these for you," Elemental held out a bouquet of brilliant red and pink tulips and feathery white jasmine.

"Why, thank you, Eph . . ., I mean, Elemental," Elisabeth said. "Where did you get them?" Even from a few feet away, Elisabeth could smell the sweet aroma.

"Paris." Elemental replied nonchalantly.

"Paris? That is amazing, Ephraim," Elisabeth took the flowers from him, and continued, "your range is increasing dramatically each time . . ." and the flowers slowly disintegrated in her hands, turning into rapidly diminishing bytes of refracted light until they had disappeared completely. She tried not to look too disappointed.

"Hmmm," Elemental frowned slightly, "I need to work on that."

"Well, it's ok. I was just about to join you," Elisabeth turned back to her input station to pause the net glider connection program. She didn't want him to see the fear and uncertainty in her face. Over her shoulder she asked, "Did Justin and Mahlon catch up to you? Did you find the Neon Angel?"

"Yes, and yes," Elemental said simply, lost in the texture of her hair once more.

"Well?" Elisabeth turned to look at him. He was glowing more and more now, with a residual energy field than seemed to surround him completely. But even as she was talking to him, she wasn't sure that he was all there. He had changed so much the past few days, and the changes on the inside were far more dramatic then any external changes. He hadn't even apologized for the flowers, she thought with a worried frown.

"Oh, the Angel isn't to be bothered," he answered in a breathless sigh. "She won't leave until Doom meets her in cyberspace . . . she means to have a showdown." Elemental recalled Margaretta's hypnotic caresses, and fantasized briefly about Elisabeth doing the same. "She won't listen to me," he continued sadly. "There's nothing more I can do."

"But Ephraim surely you can . . ." Elisabeth was interrupted by a loud groan, and a crashing coming from one of the dive benches beside her. Justin had just off-lined . . . too rapidly, and he had tried to stand before his brain cells could unscramble. He knocked over a piece of equipment with a loud crash of metal and was causing further damage as he fumbled around trying to stand again.

"Justin, what are you doing?" Elisabeth rushed over to help him up.

"Get away from me, you bitch," he groaned weakly, his voice strained and hoarse. He had used an emergency escape protocol to offline as quickly as possible once he knew where Elemental had gone, but the rapid procedure was extremely disorienting. "We almost had her ...but that . . . that . . . Thing over there . . . he had better things to do . . ." He sat down on the edge of the bed as Elisabeth guided him there. His eyes were wild, the muscles in his face twitching spasmodically.

"It's true, Lord Doom has an assignment for me in Latveria," Elemental added unemotionally.

"Latveria?" Elisabeth asked incredulously. "You can't go there, it's been necrotoxified!" She added, "It will be years before anyone can lay a foot in that country. Remember Milan?"

"Doom's techs say that my cell structure has changed so much that the remaining necrovirus will have no affect on me," Elemental explained quietly. "In theory, they say I'm immune."

"In theory?" Elisabeth echoed with growing suspicion. "Ephraim, what if they're wrong? You could be dead before you have a chance to return!"

"Don't worry, Elisabeth," he countered with a sly smile, "I'll be fine."

"The shock you will!" Justin cried stepping down from the bed, finally having recovered a little of his composure. He held a thin metal pipe in his hand, a meter long, and he brandished it like a weapon. "That's the last time you'll strand me in a cyber hell-hole you freak!" he cried as he lunged at Elemental.

"Justin, no!" Elisabeth cried out and reached to stop him, but the flashing pipe was too fast. The target of his anger, Elemental did not move an inch, and stared with quiet indifference at the young man who charged at him.

Justin made an indecipherable animal noise, and then the pipe came down in a flash across Elemental's chest. And kept going. Fully half of the pipe passed clean through Elemental's body, cutting no flesh, and encountering no bone. Instead, the shimmering being standing motionless before them parted to let the pipe pass through. Billions of bits of suspended light particles separated and reflected around the metal object, and then rejoined to form a seemingly solid being once the pipe had passed through. Justin collapsed to the floor, stunned and off-balance. Elemental stood completely still, his face showing no reaction to the apparently murderous intent of his colleague. He seemed to have not even noticed, and was staring absently into space.

"Well, I have to go now," Elemental said calmly. "See you later," and then he disappeared with a brief flash of light.

"Ephraim! Wait!" Elisabeth cried out, but too late. She sighed, and looked down at Justin. Suddenly the young man looked like a frightened boy, still shaking from the rapid off-line and tears forming unbidden in his eyes. She picked up a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.

"I couldn't keep up . . ." he muttered through his tears, "the little worm beat me . . . I couldn't catch him . .."

"Shhhh, shhh," Elisabeth comforted softly, all the while staring into the empty space where Elemental had once stood, and wondering if she would ever see him again.

San Sebastian, Spain, on the Bay of Biscay. Today.

Duke Stratosphere stood close against the wall at the base of the fog shrouded beach. An enormous shadow loomed silently overhead. Somewhere beyond the fog, he could hear the gentle lapping of waves against the beach. Lights from the main offices of the PIXEL administrative buildings glowed eerily in the distance. Checking his location carefully on a SatLoc, his hand held satellite locating device, Duke moved quickly five paces to the right, and then checked it again. He smiled and pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes, pocketed the SatLoc and proceeded to carefully scale the rock wall. Twelve feet to the top and he dropped over the wall onto a wide landing platform. Above him floated the Cicada, once Eduardo

DeVargas' personal zeppelin, now moored at PIXEL's summer headquarters here in northern Spain. Since the Paloma program had "appropriated" the body of DeVargas, the elaborately decorated air ship had remained grounded. A slowly deteriorating symbol of its former owner's exorbitance and eccentricity. It was perfect for what Duke needed.

In the guard's tower above him, three guards were busily chasing a non-existent hacker through their weak security monitoring program. They would chase this self-diminishing program until it appeared that they had caught him, and then it would suddenly off-line. Meanwhile, another much more evasive program had set up a small window in the infrared laser net that surrounded the mooring compound. Again, Duke smiled as he closed his coat and walked casually towards a maintenance access ladder on the underbelly of the floating zeppelin. Two solid days of planning and his unprecedented good luck were the keys to his success. An extreme low tide had granted easy access from the beach, and the thick predawn fog had further obscured his movements. He climbed the ladder without a backward glance and he was in. His intent was neither malicious nor larcenous. Although there were plenty of riches on board to plunder, his only goal was to access the PIXEL database. From a secure port inside their own system, Duke would have unlimited access that may take weeks to hack into from the outside. Duke settled himself down in front of a familiar computer terminal and turned on the power. He loaded the disk that held the black box he had recovered from Myridia, and began his methodical search.

Myridia. Last night. Just before midnight.

Nervously, the technical manager activated the buzzer at the closed door. For a long moment there was no answer, and he wondered briefly if he should come back another time. His instructions seemed clear, however, the Master was to be notified as soon as the project was completed. He reached towards the buzzer again, his finger just above the button, when suddenly and unexpectedly, the door whooshed open on silent tracks. As soon as he recovered his shattered composure, the aide grasped his briefcase tightly and stepped inside the room.

Two steps inside and the aide was forced to stop again. The room was dimly lit, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust from the bright corridor outside. When his senses finally recovered, the aide realized that he was standing inside a large dining hall. The wall to his left was a giant arch of windows inside a narrow balcony, with an uninterrupted view of the ocean and sparkling with the light from the reflected moon. The room was illuminated only by the faint moonlight through the open balcony and the low candles still flickering at the long, ornate dining table that dominated the center of the room. The elegant dinner that had been laid there hours earlier was untouched. The room seemed empty except for the hushed stillness that filled it. He nervously searched the dark corners of the room with his eyes for some sign of life, but there was no one in sight. Setting his small case down on the table, he ordered the computer to raise the lights to half. The room was instantly washed with brightening illumination, and it was clear that it was empty. The aide fumbled in his pocket for the instructions he had carefully written down, thinking that maybe he was in the wrong room. This would not look good on his supervisor's evaluation report, he thought glumly.

Without warning another door behind him opened and just as quickly shut with a concealing finality. Instantly the aide turned around to see Doom marching towards him across the long hall. The new Master of Myridia was in full armor, but his verdant cloak trailed behind his long strides as he promptly but without undue haste began to attach it to his silvery breastplate. The aide was startled, and suddenly frightened. The impenetrable adamantium lanxide mask of their new Master seemed to be locked in a perpetual scowl.

"M- Master," the aide breathed fearfully, "I pray I did not disturb you . . .?"

Doom stopped momentarily to glance nonchalantly back the way he had entered. He then faced the tall windows overlooking the dark sea as he continued to attach his long cloak in silence. His metal gloved fingers worked with remarkable dexterity at the hidden clasps. For a moment it seemed he would not answer. He stared menacingly over his shoulder at the technical aide.

"No," he said finally, his deep voice booming effortlessly through the room, "as long as the urgent message you bring is the news of your success!" The threat in those few words was implicitly clear.

"Yes," the aide responded, guardedly confident. "I have the results right here . . ." The aide opened the case he had laid on the table. A pop-up display of numbers and diagrams scrolled across an illuminated holographic screen.

Doom approached the table and scanned the readout with a critical eye, processing the information almost as fast as the computer relayed it. "Excellent!" was his only reply, the ominous satisfaction lost on the technical aide who was overwhelmed by a surprising sense of relief.

Latveria. Yesterday afternoon.

Elemental stepped out of the dive booth into the bright light of day, and blinked rapidly until his eyes adjusted. He was in Antikva Vilago, which was once called Doomstadt in the days of the infamous 20th century Doctor Doom. Now it was simply the old village in the shadows of Gojradia, the modern city that dominated the plains to the north. Yet in this once bustling center of international commerce, not a soul moved, not a sound could be heard. Not even the chirping of birds or the buzzing of insects. The entire human population, and many of the higher animal forms as well, had been wiped out in a ruthless assault months earlier.

Elemental stepped out into the empty street, grimacing slightly at the sticky black film which covered the streets and sidewalks. That was all that remained of half a million lost souls.

He looked away, and tried not to think about it. The castle was before him, the new structure rising from the ruins of the old one destroyed forty years ago. Elemental required an open circuit or a live connection in order to materialize in another location, and Doom had directed Elemental to the dive booth as the closest access to his castle. How Doom had known the dive booth link was still open, Elemental did not know. Nevertheless, he was only a few steps from the outer gates to the castle. All of the systems inside the castle had gone through an automated shut down/lock down procedure shortly after the attack, securing its information systems until it could be reactivated. But that reactivation was limited only to someone with direct physical access. Elemental, with his unique abilities, would be that someone today.

Doom's theory regarding Elemental's unconventional cell structure so far appeared to be correct: he was as yet unaffected by any lingering necrovirus that may still be infecting Latveria. However, he wasn't prepared for what he saw as he stepped through the open gates into the castle courtyard. Hundreds of wave spiders lay scattered about the courtyard, their long legs contracted, their gleaming red mandibles splayed in torment. The giant creatures, the largest of which were the size of a big truck, seemed to stare at him with malice, and Elemental instinctively froze. The creatures did not move. Then he realized that they were all dead. He sighed with relief, and began to work his way across the cluttered courtyard. The eerily frozen skeletons were dry and fragile, he bumped one and it crumbled like sawdust. Then he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and whirled defensively. A dozen or more cockroaches skittered away out of the innards of one of the dead spiders to disappear in the shadows of the castle. Elemental shuddered, but moved on.

Even though the castle systems were isolated, the security systems were still active. They would judiciously prevent anyone from entering the castle proper. All of the internal doors were securely locked. That would not deter him, though. Elemental approached a live security panel and initialized the computer using the access code Doom had supplied him. Instantly, he was in, transformed into his cybernetic form in the blink of an eye, and he began searching the database for the materials his Master needed. It didn't take him long. Although he could have found it without any assistance, Doom's instructions had been clear and precise. He downloaded the program and supporting information with ease, and began to back out of the system when some side program caught his eye. It was one of the security monitors in the castle interior that had captured and recorded intruders inside the castle. The warning loop was playing over and over again, a safety in the program that wouldn't shut off until the warning had been acknowledged. Elemental watched it with curiosity, but had no point of reference as to what it meant. The three murky images and the object of their intrusion were all unfamiliar to him. There was a muffled scream; he recognized the voice of despair and another's hastily whispered instructions. Then the figures were gone, and all that remained in the small dark room was a plain wooden table, beside an overturned chair. The loop began to play over again. Elemental entered the code that acknowledged receipt of the warning, and the message stopped. He stood there for a moment in studied silence. Then on an impulse, he downloaded the video loop. As an afterthought, he entered the master command file and easily destroyed all records of its existence.

Myridia. Today.

Doom was guiding Elisabeth down the long stairs into the massive basement laboratory he had recently constructed adjacent to the central control building. A dozen techs in pale yellow jump suits were scurrying about the large room, adjusting readouts and putting finishing touches on circuit boards that made up a massive machine at the center of the room. The gleaming two story tall metal construct of relays, ballasts, actuators and transformers was focused on a single human sized platform, so that it appeared to be designed strictly for some obscene torture. Straps for legs and arms on the vertical slab did little to alleviate that impression.

"By studying the holographic records of Ephraim's accident," Doom was saying as he led Elisabeth into the room, "I have isolated the specific combination of energies that transformed him into the Elemental being. I have successfully re-created those energies here, in this machine, and can now transmute any organic being at will into the same."

"I was curious as to why the lightening strike didn't just incinerate Ephraim," Elisabeth asked, staring up at the machine with a little trepidation. She had changed into one of the yellow jump suits as well, but seeing the actual mechanism of her transformation was giving her second thoughts about volunteering.

"Indeed," Doom answered, "if the strike had been a direct one he very well might have been. But the intense electromagnetic pulse actually struck one of the rooftop relay systems, which are shielded to dissipate that energy via a protective field barrier. This created a unique energy field containing enormous potential energy but devoid of energy byproducts in the form of heat and light. Ephraim was connected to the uplink satellite relay by one hand, and was still in contact with the Master Computer programs via his cybernetic uplink headset. The resultant energy pulse passed through Ephraim but was trapped there, as he was not sufficiently grounded at the time to form a path. His cells became the repository of the excess potential energy. The Master Computer detected this anomaly and began to rewrite his "software" to compensate for the energy overload, in effect, reformatting the very DNA in every one of his cells in the instant of a lightening strike." Doom approached the central podium with the controls for the large machine. Deftly flipping a complex series of switches and buttons, he brought the machine to life as it began the warm up process. "He was transformed into a being created not of flesh but of infinite bytes of information," he added casually, as if this was no unusual matter.

"But he appears solid, he has form and substance," Elisabeth watched as a rainbow of multi-colored lights flashed across the face of the apparatus.

"He is flesh, because his system has the ability to mimic flesh when he wishes it to. It is part of his programming now," Doom answered. "Now, my dear, if you'll take your position of honor on the platform." He gestured to the vertical slab at the center of the machine. Elisabeth stepped down, but hesitated before entering. One of the technicians stepped menacingly behind her, but he paused to await orders before forcing her further into the chamber.

"All is ready, Master," one of the techs approached with a clipboard he presented to Doom. "All we need now are the initiation codes."

"Good," Doom stated smugly, eyeing the clipboard. He was about to order the technician to strap Elisabeth in, when they were interrupted by a brief flash of light.

"You'll never get those codes, Doom," Elemental cried out with fierce resolve. He turned to Elisabeth with despair. "Don't let him do this to you, Elisabeth!"

Elisabeth looked to Doom. "What's going on? I thought Ephraim was part of this? What codes does he mean?"

Doom stepped down and marched toward Elemental, his anger barely concealed. "The codes he speaks of are the unique initiation codes locked inside his DNA matrix, without which the computer will not have a format with which to begin the transformation process." He addressed both of them now, "Ephraim has exhausted my patience and deliberately squandered my generosity with his continued insubordination. He has not been involved in this process because he has refused to complete his duty!"

"I cannot do what you ask!" Elemental cried with desperation.

"Than you leave me no choice but to find someone who will," Doom answered coldly. "Please . . . not Elisabeth . . . anybody but her . . ." he pleaded in a hoarse whisper.

"She is the most qualified candidate," Doom stated.

"Ephraim, I volunteered. Nobody is forcing me," Elisabeth explained gently.

"You see? There is no maleficent intent here," Doom replied, placing an arm around Elisabeth's shoulders. "We are all simply doing our duty for our Country. It is you who are misled, you who would have the Neon Angel destroy all that we fight for! Would you have our country recede into the backwaters of primitivism once again?"

"No, I don't want that," Elemental replied wearily.

"Then you must do your duty or stand down and let someone who has the fortitude you lack take your place!" Doom looked down on him with narrow eyes, but also watched the technicians behind him who were busy setting up a containment field should Elemental try to escape again.

"Very well," Elemental sighed. "Spare Elisabeth from your replication experiment, and I will do as you ask."

The Pyrenees Mountains, between Spain and France.

In a fortress hideaway buried deep within the cold granite mountains, Margaretta Von Geisterstadt was making the final adjustments to her next assault on Myridia. Since escaping the time-quakes that destroyed the Pacific Citadel [_see Doom 2099 #25_] via a hidden transport platform, Margaretta had been carefully planning her revenge against this Doom. How dare he, she thinks as she inputs the last of the data. How dare he. The thought runs through her mind like a freight train on an endless circuit. She will have him for her own, or she will have him killed. She smiled wickedly and admired her reflection in a nearby mirrored panel. She was tall and slender, with dark thick hair and mystical green eyes. Her skin tight faux leather suit accentuated her small waist and ample bosom. This body had served her well. How could he refuse her, she thinks, she is perfect for him in every way.

"No matter," she spoke aloud to herself. "He will soon die, anyway. After all, they all do." She laughed, and then prepared herself for one more trip through cyberspace.

Cyberspace . . .

Doom flew effortlessly through cyberspace, following Elemental's easy pace. Behind him came Elisabeth, Justin and Mahlon, gliding in tight formation. Elemental stopped at a juncture, and looked back. Doom and the others approached cautiously.

"She's arranged to meet you here," Elemental instructed dispassionately. "Alone."

"A trap," Elisabeth warned.

Doom opened the portal and examined the space beyond. A large meadow, with a few ruined huts of wood and thatch, and short scrub trees. There were few if any places to hide, but he was not lulled into a false sense of security.

"Let us check it out for you, Master," Justin offered eagerly. "Just a quick sweep."

"No," Doom replied with confidence, "I will indulge Margaretta this once." He turned to Ephraim. "You know what you have to do," he ordered.

Elemental returned his heavy stare fearlessly, but answered, "Yes, Master." He turned away from the group and was gone in a flash.

"The rest of you have your orders. Do not fail me!"

"Yes Master," they replied as one, each taking off in a different direction. Only Elisabeth looked back with concern.

Doom crossed the threshold, and instantly he was transported into a different world as cyberspace reconfigured itself to the Program his icon had entered. He walked across the open field towards the cluster of small shacks, wondering if this was where his nemesis would appear.

"You are still thinking in two dimensions, my Doom," Margaretta's voice came to him from above. "It is that kind of thinking which almost trapped you in the pit of despair!"

Doom looked up with unsurprised amusement. "So, it was as I suspected," Doom replied, cautiously stepping to where he could observe her every move. "It was you who were behind Paloma's deception" [_see Doom 2099 UG issue #40_].

"A minor distraction was all," Margaretta replied smoothly, "and one to which Paloma was all too willing to cooperate. She has no love for you. You have not had good luck with women of late, my Doom." Margaretta descended slowly to the ground, and focused her eyes on Doom. "Of course, I could be willing to reconcile, if you would only apologize for the way you treated me and come back. A simple thing, really. We could be partners again," she added seductively, "in everything."

"I do not need a partner," Doom growled softly. "And I would not cripple myself with one as duplicitous as you."

"You are a fool!" Margaretta snapped. "I saved you more often than I care to admit. I should have let you die in that snake pit!"

"It is you who are the fool, Margaretta," Doom countered, "hanging on to emotions that are lost in a past I scarcely recall. There can be nothing between us, ever again. It is over."

Margaretta walked away from him a few paces, and then turned to face him with fists clenched and eyes burning with hatred. "I made you, you ignorant fool!" she cried. "You owe me! I grew you! Without me you would be so much worthless protoplasm in a petri dish!"

To that Doom had no reply, for as she spoke six armored warriors materialized above his head and dropped soundlessly out of the sky. Each warrior wore a form fitting metal helmet, of a design that Doom instantly recognized as Sumerian, a warring tribe from pre-historical Mesopotamia. They carried crude swords and ancient spears, anachronistically sharpened to a machine-precise edge. In the real world, these weapons would be no match for his armor. But in the cyberverse, things were not always as they appeared. Doom stepped back and prepared himself.

"Your treachery betrays you, Margaretta," he scolded boldly. "I have come in good faith, unarmed, and you have once again acted without honor."

"You? Unarmed?" Margaretta laughed. "You forget how well I know you, my Doom. These know you too," she said gesturing at the warriors that had gathered between them. "You would be well advised to defend yourself!"

One of the warriors raised a spear, and launched it at Doom. It transformed mid-flight into an energy beam, and even with his shields up the spear knocked him to the ground. He landed hard, but instantly fired his own energy beams from his metal gauntlets. They did not affect the charging warriors, who seemed to absorb the energy. He instantly changed output frequencies, but the effect was improved only marginally in his favor.

"These are not mere net gliders," Margaretta explained above the noise of the battle. "These are programs whose sole purpose in life is to destroy you. They cannot be coerced, or bargained with, or turned from their duty until you are dead. I am sorry, my dear Doom, but we will not be meeting again."

Doom was too busy to reply, having evaded the first rush and alleviated one of the warriors of his round metal shield. He was effectively holding back one of the sword wielding warriors with only the shield, but he was in desperate need of a useful offensive weapon. He met the soulless eyes of the warrior face to mask, and deftly reversed his attack, tossing the warrior over his shoulder with a kick and a roll. Instantly he was on his feet to meet the next attacker.

Margaretta continued from behind him. "Just in case you do manage to defeat my pets, this program is now in a self-termination cycle. Consider it payback for destroying my beautiful pacific island. Prepare to be deleted, my Doom. Au revoir."

Doom dodged another warrior and sent a second one sprawling with a mighty backhand from his armored fist. As satisfying as that was, Doom was focused on Margaretta, who floated beyond his vision and disappeared in the distance, only her mocking laughter remaining behind. In the secure dive booths where the bodies of the net gliders waited in suspended animation while their consciousness drifted through the electronic medium, a secretive shadow moved silently through the darkness. The guards just outside the only door to the room were unaware of any motion inside. The shadow watched them carefully, and moved slowly to where the body of Doom lay silently as in sleep. The shadow slipped soundlessly in beside the motionless monarch. Using a small recorder and wire clips, the intruder carefully attached the alarm systems on the cybernetic monitor onto a bypass terminal, and activated the shunt. Whoever was monitoring Doom's bio-signs would notice a small blip, and then the readings would return to normal. The shadow waited to see that the system was working, and watched the guards for any signs of alarm. The silence was broken only by the steady humming of the machinery.

A small vial appeared in the shadow's hand. The last contact with the intruder's partner had procured this precious liquid, a potent and rare acid used for etching adamantium alloys. The shadow carefully opened the vial and poured the acid liberally over Doom's chest plate. The shadow ducked down as the guard appeared again and passed the doorway. The acid hissed silently until a portion of the armor plate had dissolved, revealing the naked skin below. The shadow's hand emerged again to reveal a long shining serrated blade, which caught the dim light of the room in a starlit reflection. Gripping the blade in both hands, the assassin carefully positioned it over the heart and with one swift motion plunged it deep into the flesh. Crimson blood immediately spread around that terrible wound as the blade was withdrawn, and the body within the armor convulsed in autonomic agony as the heart collapsed upon itself. A quiet gurgling sound erupted from the throat as blood began to fill the lungs, and gushed silently from that mortal wound to drip onto the darkened ground where that shadowy figure had once stood.

**To be continued . . . ?**

_** "Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit,**_

_** And look upon death itself! Up, up, and see**_

_** The great doom's image!"**_

_** Shakespeare, from "Macbeth"**_

DS

March 1, 1997

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	3. Chapter 3 Fade To Black

**Doom 2099 UG, Issue #43**

_Gypsy, Sorcerer, Scientist, King . . ._ The man the 20th century vilified and called Doctor Doom has traveled to the year 2099 where the superheroes who once thwarted his plans at world conquest are no more. But his once pristine country of Latveria has been reduced to an inhospitable pool of toxic sludge by a madman wielding unearthly powers. He must renew his home and his power from abroad, in the new world of the future and in the realm of computer cyberspace, all the while asserting his right to rule as . . . DOOM 2099 !

**THE STORM, Part Three**

"**Fade to Black "**

Doom watched out of the corner of his eye, as the icon of the Neon Angel, whom he knew as Margaretta Von Geisterstadt, exited this deadly program in the hyper reality of cyberspace. Her mocking laughter echoed in his ears, as she left him alone to battle her lethal cybernetic pawns. The un-living Sumerian warriors she had designed to destroy him were doing their utmost to complete their programming, and lacking an effective weapon at the moment, Doom was unable to expeditiously dispatch them and pursue his true nemesis. As she disappeared, his full attention was once again directed to the attacking warriors.

He was less hampered by the odds in their favor than one would suspect. Six warriors opposing him was not a conclusive advantage against one such as Doom. He recalled fighting that meddlesome super- powered foursome to a standstill on many an occasion in his "youth". It seemed like a different lifetime, only he still felt the same, and the hand to hand combat skills taught to him by an ancient order of Tibetan monks had stayed with him across the boundaries of time. He deflected a rushing attack, and redirected, sending the warrior spinning onto the grass. Instinctively he whirled and ducked, avoiding a blast of incinerating heat sent his way by another warrior. The spear of red hot energy skewered the attacking warrior behind him. The image sputtered and splintered as it fell, till its self repair protocols could no longer halt the destructive disintegration, and it faded into nothingness. One down.

Although Doom's computer icon was as well equipped as his real world self, his armor's weapons had proven ineffective in this cyber realm. Like a game, Doom had to either find the tools that would destroy his attackers, or create them. Unlike a game, this program was no "sim": if his icon were destroyed, his consciousness would never again return to his body, and he would "live" the rest of his natural life as a mindless vegetable. Margaretta had designed this site well, however, and the chances of him finding a useable weapon here appeared remote. The locus where she had set her trap was a wide, green field, with broad spreading trees and a dilapidated wooden hut tucked in the corner. It was a primitive, seemingly peaceful place, mimicking the real world down to the smallest detail, from the chirping of birds in the distance to the gentle rustling of wind through the tall grass. An early morning sun peeked through a distant fog bank, and Doom could almost feel the warmth of it on his back.

But there was no time for daydreaming here. Doom leaped away from another blast of fire from the warrior's spear, then he unexpectedly surged forward to grab the weapon in both hands. Doom was far more agile than his armored bulk might suggest, and although his strength was enhanced by his marvelous armor, the warrior before him was equally strong, and would not relinquish the weapon. Doom let the warrior pull him forward, then twisted, placing the warrior's body in between his and a third Sumerian who was swinging a heavy axe. The blade of the axe cleaved the air where Doom had once stood, and embedded with a mighty "THWACK" into the spearman's shoulder. Doom's red eyepieces stared coldly into the unfeeling eyes of the Sumerian program. There was no cry of pain or sudden fear in the wounded warrior, but the damage was enough to loosen his adversary's grip on the fire-shooting spear. Quickly Doom wrenched it away, and aimed it at the pair before him. The one behind was struggling to free the axe from the leather armor and simulated flesh of his companion's shoulder blade. But no matter how he manipulated the spear, Doom was frustrated to find that it would not fire for him. The program was obviously equipped with a failsafe, and Doom would not be afforded the luxury of time to unlock it. Instead, he turned the weapon to its original intent, and with a magnificent heave buried it in the body of the axe-man. The spear penetrated clear to the other side of that thick torso, and the warrior fell backwards. The warrior was not finished by that seemingly horrific wound, but the point of the spear was imbedded deep into the ground, and he wriggled frantically upon the thick shaft, hopelessly pinned. Two gone, Doom thought briefly. The other warrior continued to contort his body in a frenzied fervor as he struggled to pull the axe out of his own back.

The other three warriors had recovered from Doom's earlier assault and were beginning to gather themselves for another attack. Doom chose not wait for them. Aiming for the space where Margaretta had disappeared, Doom flew through the air towards the distant sun. He quickly approached the gray fog bank that appeared to cover the once distant horizon, and just short of the gray mists he suddenly stopped. His instincts sensed something more than a atmospheric disturbance in this seething gray cloud before him. His caution was rewarded by an agitated warning from his net glider companions.

"Doom!" Elisabeth's voice came to him through a com link integrated in his armor. Her icon was busy manipulating streams of data from a distant data junction, safely removed from the forest world where the new Master of Myridia was fighting. "My lord! Don't go any further! The cloud is the representation of the delete function!" she warned hastily. "Your icon will de-rez! My Lord! Are you there?"

"No need to shout, my dear," Doom replied with studied calm. "I have discerned the cloud's purpose independently of your analysis. Have you established your perimeter?"

Elisabeth checked her wrist monitor for the location of the other two net gliders. "Mahlon's in position, but I've lost contact with Justin momentarily. He ran into a guard dog program and was having to dive around it . . ."

"Dogs don't concern me, Net Leader," Doom answered over their comlink with barely controlled anger, "establish the bridge as was planned! Any further delay in this program may result in a breach of insurmountable proportions!"

"Yes, Master, I understand, but . . ."

"I haven't the time for 'buts' young lady," Doom interrupted. He looked over his shoulder at the rapidly closing warriors who were pursuing him even into the air. "Margaretta's playthings are proving quite resilient," he added dryly.

"The Program has too many locks," Elisabeth answered anxiously. She was on her hands and knees physically manipulating the coded bits that would give them access to the corner of cyberspace where Doom was trapped. It was like moving blocks of a puzzle into place. "We'll work as fast as we can, but you'll just have to hold them off for awhile!" She didn't add what she was thinking, that he shouldn't have ever risked entering such an obvious trap in the first place. Of course, they had assumed that they could overcome any system configuration that the Neon Angel could design. But this Program was no ordinary VR space. The Program was imbued with characteristics she had never seen before and codes that were far more complex than anything they had ever encountered. Only together would they stand a chance of freeing the new leader of Myridia. And where the shock was Justin anyway?

Doom was silent for a moment as he clashed with the first of the approaching warriors. Unaccustomed though he was to cyberspace, he had a wealth of experience at waging airborne battles in his suit of armor. The warriors appeared to have no physical means of flight, but that was hardly surprising in this realm. "A useful weapon would increase my chances, Net Leader," Doom relayed as he fought. He grabbed the sword arm of the foremost warrior and held the glowing blade away from him. His voice was calm, betraying nothing of his struggles. He smashed his metal fist into the Sumerian's face, and still his adversary would not relinquish the sword. They were dangerously close to that approaching fog bank, and the other two warriors were rapidly closing in.

"That I can do," Elisabeth replied with confidence. "Nothing fancy, mind you, because the Program has chronological limitations but . . ."

Doom was shoved backwards through the air by the Sumerian, and he glanced back at that translucent barrier with conspicuous unease. The fog surged and expanded behind the

embattled pair. Suddenly Doom rotated the arm of the soldier and sent him flying backwards into the fog. The warrior icon was framed momentarily against the swirling vapors, and then it disintegrated into nothingness. The sword he had held was still spinning in the air between them, and Doom lunged for it, but was too late. The sword followed it's wielder into the mists and was lost.

" . . . There! You'll have to find it in the playing field, probably near any significant landmark."

The other warriors kept their distance, cautious of the curling tendrils of oblivion that swirled around Doom. "Cowards!" Doom hissed softly with contempt. He eyed the land below them. This standoff would not last forever, already he sensed that the cloud was moving more rapidly, voraciously gobbling up the cyber terrain with every passing moment. "Get that bridge built, Net Leader!" he ordered harshly. "I've had quite enough of Margaretta's little games!"

With that Doom dropped out of the sky like a meteor, slipping past the floating cyber warriors before him and recklessly aiming for the wooden shack at the edge of the clearing. The tiny edifice was half hidden by a wide oak tree, but was the only structure within this make-believe cyber realm. He crashed through the roof in a cloud of splintering wood fibers and century's old dust. The Sumerian warriors followed him doggedly. The remaining pair landed outside of the shack and approached the door cautiously, with weapons drawn. The small structure was barely standing, but there appeared no movement inside.

In a stony fortress high in the rocky Pyrenees Mountains, Margaretta Von Geisterstadt stretched her pale limbs and removed the cyber-ware from her temple. A delicious smile parted her ruby red lips as she swung her legs over the edge of the platform bed and tossed the wiring back onto the nearby control panel. Her brows creased in a moment of serious attention as she perused a nearby data monitor. Her smile returned as the program continued to run its deadly course. There would be no escape for her Doom this time.

"Such a shame," she whispered sarcastically to herself, "he was such an unpredictable games partner. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to make another one!"

She glided easily across the black marble floor, down into an expansive living area. "Computer," she ordered, absently sifting through some program files on a long, low table, "open drapes."

Following her vocal commands instantly, the computer initiated servo-motors that silently drew the heavy drapes from a floor to ceiling picture window. Muted light streamed into the dark room as the view revealed the sun dropping slowly down behind the granite mountains. The view was breathtaking, and jaded though she was, Margaretta was forced to admire it. Fog shrouded the distant valley below, and the light from the setting sun was reflected on the jutting spires of enormous white rock columns that surrounded her hidden fortress. Then she saw a most unnatural figure, with silvery skin, reflecting in the window from a position directly behind her.

Fearlessly she whirled, shouting a command as she did. "Computer! Security alert! Intruder!" As she spoke, she recognized the pale, slight figure who calmly stood in her private chamber. "You?" she exclaimed. As quick as the turning of a card, her alarm was replaced by a seductive bemusement. "My, my, you are a resourceful one, aren't you?" she murmured smoothly. "How did you get in here?"

"That doesn't matter," Elemental intoned dispassionately. His silvery skin rippled nervously under his body suit as Margaretta approached him, but he did not move from where he stood. His eyes followed her every move.

From the black step just below him, Margaretta looked up into those cool blue eyes. She reached up to lightly caress his face. "Well, my Doom has always been choosy with his hired help," she ran her hand along the curve of his jaw, then placed a finger on his chest. "But you seem to be the cream of the crop. I'd be interested in having you work for me. Should I call off my security alert and see if you can rise to the occasion . . .?" Her finger chased the line of his mid-section down to a point below his belt.

Elemental grabbed her hand roughly in his. "That won't be necessary," he stated. "Security abort." The flashing red light above the chamber door suddenly stopped.

"What? You've re-written my security protocol? That was exceptionally rude!" Margaretta ripped her arm out of his hand and slapped him, hard. The blow stung her hand but that steely face didn't flinch nor flicker. She turned away to hide her disappointment and stepped lightly back down the short steps to rethink her strategy.

"Not at all," Elemental replied slowly. "I wrote this entire program."

"Feh!" Margaretta snorted unhappily, "You're skeltered, little man. Get out of my house! Go crawling back to whatever's left of Doom, and leave your demented rambling for someone who gives a shock!"

"No, I'm not insane, not yet" Elemental stated calmly. "You have just entered an Omega Program. This is my domain now, and I'm afraid that your days of deceit and disruption are over at last. I will leave this Program soon. You however will never be allowed to leave here. Your punishment is to be trapped for eternity in cyberspace."

Margaretta glanced over her shoulder at the dive platform she had just left. That was . . . impossible . . . but, a trickle of doubt slithered down her back. "Don't play tricks with me boy," she sat down at her long couch, and casually crossed her legs. Surreptitiously, her right hand slipped instinctively between the cushions till she found a small hard object right where it should be, and her fingers closed around the object. She smiled again, her eyes full of malice. "You don't really expect me to fall for such a ridiculously obvious ploy, do you? Surely you know me better than that by now."

"Yes, I know you well enough," Elemental replied, stepping down to her level and deliberately approaching the sofa. "I know that you have a weapon beneath those cushions, and that you think you can kill me and that will prove me wrong."

Margaretta's eyes flared with anger. "You may be a fool, little man, but you're right about that!" She pulled the weapon up from the couch and leveled it at him. He did not move as her finger curled around the trigger. She fired without a second's hesitation. The weapon discharged in a brilliant flash of red-yellow flame and white smoke. But the concussion beam seemed to pass right through him, shattering a table on the other side of the room. Elemental stood before her, unaffected. Margaretta leapt from the couch with a scream and aimed again, sure that she could not miss. She fired, point blank range, and the result was the same. Enraged, she threw the weapon at him. Deftly, he caught it in one hand.

"Computer, disarm all offensive weapons in the Program," Elemental commanded. "I don't want you hurting yourself in here. You will have everything you need to survive. The program will maintain your icon in this form, forever. If you wish to eat there will always be food, water, and other necessities, but you can never again leave this mountain." He turned away from her and continued to lecture solemnly, "Everything here will function as normal, and you can even continue your experiments in bio genetic engineering. You will be able to explore a pseudo-cyberspace, contained within this program, it is limited but with enough variability to last a lifetime. I alone hold all of the command codes required to exit this program. Your real body is being held in stasis. You are still alive, but you can never again return to it. Consider that my gift to you, for what Doom had in mind was far less pleasant."

"Arrgghh! You little slime!" Margaretta turned away from him, fists clenched and walked towards the window. "I still don't believe it," she said, shaking her head. "This is a sick joke. I off-lined. I'm at the fortress, and you're lying, trying to trick me." She looked out at the fading sunset in the distance.

"Computer," Elemental ordered, "repeat sunset program 112210099."

Suddenly the room brightened again, as the sun had repositioned high above the mountains once more, and was slowly heading down towards the horizon. Margaretta gasped. "Unless you think I have the power to affect the Earth's rotation, you must now find that everything I've said is true," Elemental turned away from the starkly silent woman. "In time,

you will accept this as reality, and you may even come to enjoy this existence. It has all of the amenities and variations of the real world, but here you can do no one any harm ever again." Quietly he stepped towards the dive platform.

"Wait!" Margaretta screamed after him. "You can't leave me here like this! Whatever Doom's paying you, I'll double it! I'll triple it! Please!"

Elemental looked down at her painfully contorted features, tears streaking her face. "I'm sorry, but this is really for the best. Goodbye." He stepped back towards the dive booth, and slipped into the circuits, leaving her alone. He did not hear the foul curses that followed him.

"Welcome to Castle Doom. How may I assist you?"

Duke Stratosphere smiled and winked at the computer hostess, and casually stepped into the foyer at the entrance to the elaborate stone structure. He looked up at massive stone walls and thick, hanging tapestries perfectly simulated in this navigator program for the new Castle Doom, resurrected once more in Latveria under Doom's current monarchy. The access came to him at a price, for earlier that day he had used PIXEL Corp.'s own computer network to slip past their security grid and directly contact the Paloma program. Once face to face with Paloma, he had bargained with her for access to Doom's own systems, safely locked away in necrotoxified Latveria. Duke had learned a long time ago that program hacking was far more than breaking down fire walls. Sometimes it required a more subtle approach. He had also been anxious to meet this Paloma, this self-aware program that lived in the cyber realms, ever since the doomed gypsy boy Wire had been ensnared in her web. He was surprised to find that she too was curious to meet him. She had approached him with caution, mindful of the skill necessary to have invaded her private sanctuary. She had tested him, and he had readily proved his efficacy within her cybernetic element. In the end, she had agreed to provide him with the necessary access codes to break into Castle Doom.

"And the price for this information?" Duke had asked warily.

"A future favor, of equal value," was Paloma's cool reply.

"And what might that favor entail?"

"Nothing beyond your means, but I will let you know when the time is right," Paloma had answered cryptically, and leaving the codes behind, she had disappeared. Duke Stratosphere was naturally cautious, but also mindful that there was no such thing as a free glide. Everything came with a price, and it was not the first time that he had bartered in favors. He looked now around the hyper reality of the Castle Doom program and a natural wariness badgered his conscience. All of this just to open an unknown program, held within the mysterious black Box! His hand rested protectively on the box, carefully out of sight within a deep pocket of his long coat. His curiosity was undiminished.

"You may access any active function within the Castle cyber systems," the Hostess explained helpfully. "Or, may I offer you a tour of the Castle?"

"A tour?" Duke turned back to the Hostess with a smile. "That would be exceptionally helpful. Can we start with the library?"

"There are seven libraries and four galleries in the Castle, as well as the Master's private collection in the west wing living suites. Where would you like to begin?"

Duke had no idea what he was looking for, but he trusted his instincts that he would know it when he found it. "Let's start with the west wing, shall we?"

The wooden shack in another corner of cyberspace was far from Duke Stratosphere only in so much as one fold of a curtain is far from a fold on the opposite side. The image of the hut shimmered slightly in the dappled morning light as the dust settled around its barely intact frame. The single structure, slightly off center to begin with, was leaning even farther now that Doom had deliberately crashed though the roof only moments before. The two Sumerian cyber warriors cautiously approached the shack on foot. The two remaining programs were learning, and they had learned that their quarry was a warrior whose skills were to be respected. One of the warriors readied a sword, the other aimed bow and arrow at the wooden door that hung slightly ajar on rotted hinges. From within the shack a low humming sound began, like a machine warming up, and shook the paneled walls. Suddenly the shack literally exploded from within, pelting the warriors with bullet-like fragments of wooden shrapnel. From the cloud of dust and smoke, Doom boldly strode forward, holding in his right hand a massive golden broadsword. His green cape floated serenely behind him.

"If you were living creatures," Doom intoned slowly, "now would be the time to beg for mercy."

The Sumerians responded at once by again raising their weapons. Doom countered with the glistening broadsword, grasping the weapon in both metal clad hands and positioning himself with the subtle grace of a dancer. "In this world as in any other," Doom growled, "there is no mercy for those who dare oppose the will of Doom!"

The first of the warriors launched a hail of arrows at Doom, transforming mid-flight into energy beams that Doom deflected with a flash of the gleaming blade. He batted away the rushing attack of the swordsman, pushing the warrior forcefully back into the rubble of the shack behind him. Doom turned back to the other, and quickly closed the distance while the archer hurriedly reset his bow. As the warrior looked up to aim once more, all he saw was the flash of that golden blade as Doom was suddenly upon him. The shimmering weapon cut the air, then parted the Sumerian's head from his shoulders. The head landed with a thud and a roll in the matted grass at their feet. And as the body collapsed backwards, the program convulsed, the hands and body jerked and twitched spasmodically upon the ground.

Doom whirled again to face his final opponent. The swordsman approached slowly now, carefully judging the distance between him and this new weapon. Doom and warrior circled each other cautiously, weapons raised defensively. The warrior lunged and struck with his sword, was met by the golden blade and rebuffed, and just as quickly retreated, to circle once more. Doom followed the program attentively, analyzing his every move. Again the program attacked, and again Doom deflected. This game was getting old, neither side had gained an advantage. Doom eyed the distant horizon. The fog was getting closer, now enveloping the edge of the wide meadow. The trees in the distance had all but disappeared, and still there was no word from his Net Glider Team. The program's tactics were now clear: it was to occupy Doom until they both were deleted by the approaching mists. Doom turned his attention fully back to the warrior in front of him. Doom would not allow himself to be waylaid by so craven a maneuver. He stepped back a moment, and lowered his guard as if fatigued. The warrior's instincts were true, and he approached again to strike, sensing his opponent's weakness. Doom waited until the last moment, and then stepped aside, deflecting the sword strike not with his blade but with a glancing slap from his metal palm. That opened up the warrior for the killing blow, and the Sumerian realized his mistake too late. Holding the great sword in one hand, a terrible curving strike sliced through the warrior with the singing sound of a sharpened scythe, cleaving him in two from shoulder to hip. Simulated blood and gore gurgled forth as the blade cut clear through to the other side. The warrior's eyes registered a momentary surprise as it's body separated into two distinct sections. Then, warrior fell at last, and the icon was dead.

Doom regarded him once, and then turned his attention to other matters. "Net team," he spoke firmly to his comlink with the others. "This game has run its course. Establish your bridge now. I will tolerate this incompetence no further!"

"Don't look now, but here comes the cavalry!" Mahlon's voice sounded enthusiastically in reply.

"We made it, Lord Doom!" Elisabeth added. "Behind you at the edge of the clearing!"

Doom turned around. In the gray sky behind him was a multicolored tube of light descending from the sky. It passed though the gray fog that was slowly deleting this program and continued on to a point just within the last remaining bytes of data that made up the playing field. The bridge was his icon's escape to normal c-space. From the base of this incongruous construction, Elisabeth waved to him.

"Hurry, my lord," she advised anxiously. "Mahlon and Justin are holding the bridge together from the other side, but the Program is deteriorating quickly! This footing is not completely stable!"

"Good work, Net Leader," Doom replied. He began to march rapidly across the field as he spoke, but he had not gone two steps before his forward progress was blocked once more. A terrible specter rose up from the grass at his feet. The same warrior that a short time ago had been disabled by an axe imbedded in its back now held that axe in both hands and was blocking Doom from his escape route. Simulated blood covered the axe and the leather tunic the warrior wore was dark with the spreading liquid. But the wound did not seem to affect him, only the Sumerian's eyes were now a blazing blood red.

"Enough!" Doom yelled angrily. He lifted the broadsword and brought it fiercely down upon the axe man.

The Sumerian met his blow with the flashing steel of the axe, and blocked it, pushing Doom back. The two titans gathered themselves and then clashed again, this time taking the battle to the air as Doom tried to position himself between the warrior and the bridge. But the Sumerian seemed to know that the bridge was his foe's escape, and again and again he pushed Doom back. The fog had now completely enveloped all but a hundred square meters or less of the green fields. The bridge remained tantalizing close, but Sumerian warrior was following its programming to the last. Doom was not to leave this place alive!

"Master! You must hurry!" Elisabeth cried nervously. She looked around the base where the bridge was anchored to the disappearing program. The fog was slowly eating away at that contact. She thought about stepping into the program to help Doom, then remembered that she was needed to stabilize this end of the bridge. She worked on extending the bridge's reach another few degrees as she watched the Master of Myridia struggle bodily with the warrior program.

Doom did not answer, but focused all his skills upon the attacking warrior. Sword and axe clashed in the air with the ring of heavy metal. Doom pushed the warrior back with a parry and a swing of the sword. He turned his attention for a moment towards the distant bridge, now surrounded on three sides by the encroaching fog, calculating the distance with a practiced eye. His momentary distraction precipitated an attack by his foe, and he barely deflected the hissing blow of the axe, which struck through to the armor plate at his shoulder, cutting into the flesh and bone of his icon's simulated body. The pain was real, but he was Doom. He did not cry out, but turned his anger instead back on the warrior, repeatedly and rapidly striking the axe with his sword, forcing the Sumerian back with a ferocity that had tripled in bloodthirsty intensity. He was like a wounded bear, more ferocious from the smell of its own blood. He focused his entire being upon that enemy now, striking repeatedly, ignoring the simulated ache which pierced his arms.

The Sumerian could do nothing but block those flashing blows, stepping back little by little under the relentless assault until . . .

The program finally failed. The mighty axe broke at the handle, and as Doom was driving forward he pierced the body of the warrior, burying the golden sword deep into the icon's midsection. He grabbed the warrior's shoulder in his free hand, and drove the sword even deeper into the leather armor and flesh. Staring into the cold eyes of his rival, Doom twisted the blade, mutilating bone and guts, until his metal gloves were spattered with realistic gore and all sign of life finally faded from the Sumerian's body. Placing a boot in the ripped up remains of the warrior, Doom pulled his great sword away, and let the broken body fall to the ground. Doom made no sound, save the whistling rattle of his breath coming hard through the slits in his mask.

Elisabeth stood for a moment in shocked silence, then came to her senses as warnings began to flash on the control panel at her fingertips. "Doom!" she shouted through her communicator. "Get over here now!"

It took Doom only an instant to recover his senses, and he flew through the air towards the brilliantly colored bridge in the distance. The ground below him dwindled to a small patch of green under the advance of the deadly fog. All else in this cyber world was shrouded in a veil of white. Elisabeth gestured him frantically forward from her station on the bridge. But his own instincts brought him up short. He stopped at the edge, less than ten meters from the bridge, and stepped down onto the grass. Tendrils of fog licked at his silver boots.

"Come on!" Elisabeth urged, "Only a few more feet!"

"It's too far," Doom added calmly. "You'll have to extend the bridge!"

"We've reached the limit of this program, it won't go any farther!" Elisabeth jammed her fingers at the controls, but the bridge would not budge any further. "Can you jump it?" To her, the distance between her and the patch of green where Doom stood was empty space.

To Doom, that patch of fog was death. He extended the sword into the white mists, and when he pulled it back, half of the length was missing. "No," he said sullenly, and backed up further away to avoid the encroaching mists. He opened his gauntlet and began entering codes on a control panel he revealed there. "I will have to attempt a different path. Get your team back to the control room, you should be able to track the icon and initiate the emergency reintegration program at codeword: Epsilon Nine!"

"But . . . I don't have . . ." Elisabeth stuttered, confused.

"No time to explain," Doom interrupted impatiently. "Get back to the control room and do as I say, Net Leader. Or all will be lost!" Doom lifted what was left of the golden sword toward her in a gallant salute, and in a flash of light he was gone. An instant later, the last bit of the Neon Angel's program disappeared forever in the cyber mists.

Then, the safeties in the bridge where Elisabeth stood finally began to fail. Stressed to limits which the data stream could not support, and hampered by the deletion of the link, the bridge began to lose structural integrity almost immediately. To her startled dismay, bits of the bridge began to sparkle and flash, silent, deadly explosions that signaled the beginning of data decay. Without a backwards glance, Elisabeth turned and ran towards her team at the opposite end of the tunnel. "Prepare to fly, guys," she said, her voice tinged with a bitter edge. "Let's get the shock out of here!"

In a darkened but opulently furnished mag lev limousine in the East South African providence of Mozambique, three men conferred high above the flickering lights of the troubled city below. An armed escort floated a respectable distance away, sensors scanning the skies ten times per second. But the clandestine meeting was undisturbed from without, obscured from prying eyes within the curtain of the moonless night.

"What of Myridia? Has there been any support for the rebels from Doom's camp?" The elder statesman viewed a printed report with urgent concern.

"As far as anyone can tell, their position is the same as his predecessor, Czerny," the younger man reported. He wore a telemetry headset and a dark uniform, a uniform hiding an assortment of weapons and information gathering technology. A pair of Stark-Fujikawa jet boots that bound his lower legs explained his incongruous presence in this exorbitant airborne aerie. He was normally a man who was difficult to fluster, but he seemed more than a little uncomfortable with making his report in this manner, and with personages of such high political importance. "But there has been no word from Myridia since their recent troubles in c-space. It could be that they are far too involved in domestic matters to pay current international events much concern."

"Captain, do we have any idea what has caused this recent unrest?" That was the voice from the darkened shadows. Although the covert operator knew who this man was, the sound of the voice from the shadows chilled the Captain to the bone. The voice was thick with a heavy Afrikaner accent, remnant of a once lost regime.

"Sir, other than the on-going food ration shortages and continued drought, news of an atomic weapon being discharged on the North American continent, above St. Louis, seems to have inflamed an atmosphere of tension and fear among the inhabitants of the M'tuto shanty town. There are talks of an organized walkout of the textile factories tomorrow, and there appears to be a resurgence of religious ritual." The Captain of the Information and Intelligence Network opened a small notebook. "There are rumors of a 'second coming', a savior of some kind to deliver them from evil. Also, the TKU action has apparently fostered a lack of faith in current military strength."

The Captain was loathe to mention their recent failure to procure additional lands from their often hostile neighbor, the Tanzania-Kenya-Uganda Environmental and Conservation Cooperative known simply now as TKU. The TKU guarded their borders jealously, harboring the only wild lands of Africa that remain undeveloped and untainted by modern man outside of Wakanda. Recent guerilla raids into TKU territory in an attempt to "liberate" some of those resources had resulted in a resounding defeat for Mozambique forces. Despite their eco-terrorist reputation, the TKU had survived the last fifty years on sound planning and uncanny military savvy. They had also had the good fortune to be supported by the Masai, the fierce native warrior tribe that shunned all modern technology and continued to live as their ancestors had a thousand years ago.

"Despite proclamations to the contrary, it appears that this religious fantasy has managed to flourish!" the first statesman commented, tactfully steering away from any comments regarding TKU. He slammed his fist down onto the written report in front of him. "This second coming will cost us millions in lost productivity. We have to shut it down now before it gets any further. How many priests were hung last time? Twenty? Thirty? And still they cling to this dead prophet's raving."

"It will be more difficult this time, " the Captain explained. "The churches are now hundreds of private homes, and the speakers include the women and even children, coached by a handful of practitioners who have thus far avoided identification. And their following is growing, even during the curfews."

The elder statesman's frown deepened. "We will have to send in more troops, reinforce the curfew with capital punishment if necessary!"

"Yes," the leader lit a cigarette, the glowing embers lighting his wizened features in the back of the limousine momentarily. The Captain's eyes were drawn involuntarily to that glowing red beacon. "In time, we will deal with the TKU; they will pay for their nationalistic fanaticism while the rest of Africa is left to starve. For now though, the unrest in the slums will be our focus. Reinforce martial law, increase the curfews, restrict the food rations! Fill the jails to the brim if necessary! Let's show these monkeys that the only god in Mozambique is a White God, and the coloreds have no rights nor place in heaven under the eyes of God!" And the man in the shadows leaned back and smiled, smoke drifting out from between gleaming white teeth.

"I'm falling . . . No, I remember . . . falling . . ."

Doom's consciousness drifted aimlessly, scattered in an in-between place that was neither cyberspace nor real space. Bits and pieces of his fractured memory penetrated his consciousness simultaneously. He struggled to sort out the pieces, no longer mindful of his immediate predicament. There was a piece of something important, something he needed to remember, floating there just beyond his reach. If he could only touch it for a moment, grab it in a steel mitt and force it to follow a logical pattern.

"I . . . remember falling." His thoughts coalesced into words, reaching and gathering strength from those memories. "I was . . . someplace else . . . The air, it battered my skin, my naked body spread eagle in the sky . . . falling, as if I had fallen for eternity. Then the land rushed up to meet me, and then . . . pain. But there was the smell of dirt along with the taste of blood, and my heart rejoiced through the pain, which was not pain any longer. I was . . . home?"

The memory shut down, as his consciousness went spinning in a new direction, and a clinging blackness shrouded his mind. He had no sense of time, or of being. He was no longer real.

In Myridia, the three net gliders off-lined quickly, but only Elisabeth pushed herself up out of the cybernetic trance, jumping off the bed with agitated impatience. Her companions, Justin and Mahlon, groaned slightly as their minds began to re-adjust to the weight of flesh. The fourth figure, on a bed slightly removed from the other three, did not move. Elisabeth spared the quietly prone armored figure a brief glance, and then dragged herself over to the main control panel located behind the glider's beds.

"Epsilon-nine. Search." She ordered the computer verbally. Her voice was shaky, her body still quivering convulsively from her rapid return from c-space.

"That's a restricted access program, Elisabeth," Mahlon called over to her from where he still sat at the edge of the bed. He rubbed his eyes slowly.

"I know!" Elisabeth answered, with uncharacteristic emotion. "Doom seemed to think that this would work!" She pounded a palm on to the control panel with edgy dissatisfaction as the display ran through thousands of files at near warp speed. "Hurry up, damn you!"

"He's gone, Elisabeth," Justin piped in with quiet consolation from behind her. "There was no way out of that program. You saw how it gobbled up our bridge. It was unreal. He couldn't have made it." She didn't seem to respond to his words, but stood biting her thumbnail as she stared intently at the panel. "Let it go, Elis," Justin continued. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "We tried our best."

"No! I won't!" Elisabeth pushed his hand off of her shoulder. Then the computer beeped at her, finally acknowledging her search.

"Access granted" the cold computer voice replied.

"Execute!" Elisabeth fairly shouted the command to have the computer run the program.

"Epsilon nine execute acknowledged." the computer stated. "Working . . ."

Elisabeth pushed past Justin and ran over to Doom's bed, and stared worriedly down into that cold, lifeless mask. She looked up at the display, which showed a steady heart beat and brain pattern. Something at the edge of the bed caught her eye. There was an unusual piece of equipment that shouldn't be there. It was taped onto the monitor table.

"What the . . .?" She reached over Doom's still motionless body to examine the small box, but stopped suddenly as her arm brushed against something cold, wet, and sticky. She pulled her arm away reflexively. The lower part of her bare arm was splotched with dark red blood. Her eyes went wide with fear, and she put her hand down on the dark armor that covered the master's chest. She pulled the hand away as if she had touched a hot iron. Her hand was covered in blood, red, sticky and cold. Worse still, she had detected no beating of a heart present in that quiet body.

"Justin . . . Mahlon . . . ! Oh my god . . . call security! No, call a medic! Do it now!"

"What? What is it? What's wrong?" Mahlon asked, finally lowering himself from the bed.

"Security's right outside, Elis," Justin stated, walking over to Doom's bed. "What's the matter? Life signs are normal . . ."

Elisabeth was silent, speechless. Her face had lost all color. She stared at her own bloody hand.

Justin walked over to the side of the bed opposite from his net commander, and instantly saw what Elisabeth had missed: a deep pool of blood drying on the floor next to the bed; the limp hand dangling over the edge; and the bypass feeder, relaying false readings into the

cyberspace bio monitor that tracked the life signs of the net gliders while their consciousness flew through cyberspace.

"Oh . . . my . . . god . . ." Elisabeth mumbled again.

"What? What's happening?" Mahlon asked, stumbling up to his companions.

Justin reached over and unplugged the bypass feeder and tossed it aside. The monitors above Doom's bed now all read flatline. Alarms instantly sounded in the small room, and moments later the two security guards from outside charged into the room, weapons at the ready. Nonchalantly, Justin reached over and turned off the Epsilon-nine program with deliberate finality. "I guess there's no need for that anymore," he said quietly.

"Nobody move!" The security guard ordered. "Step away from the body!"

Mahlon was still scattered. "I don't get it, Justin. What happened?"

Justin turned to Mahlon slowly, pointing to the armored form on the bed. "Assassination is what's happened," Justin stated sadly, walking away from their former ruler.

"Doom is dead."

**To be continued . . .**

_** "As he was valiant, I honour him:**_

_** but as he was ambitious, I slew him."**_

_** JULIUS CAESAR, by Shakespeare**_

DS

5/31/97


	4. Chapter 4 Convergence Pending

**Doom 2099 UG, Issue #44**

_Gypsy, Sorcerer, Scientist, King . . ._ The man the 20th century vilified and called Doctor Doom has traveled to the year 2099 where the superheroes who once thwarted his plans at world conquest are no more. But his once pristine country of Latveria has been reduced to an inhospitable pool of toxic sludge by a madman wielding unearthly powers. He must renew his home and his power from abroad, in the new world of the future and in the realm of computer cyberspace, all the while asserting his right to rule as . . . DOOM 2099 !

**THE STORM, Part Four**

"**Convergence Pending"**

"Doom is dead"

Justin repeated the words dispassionately. He was standing over the gruesomely mutilated armored body that lay motionless on the net glider bed. A slow drip of blood steadily fell from the cold corpse, black and thick into a sticky pool on the floor near Justin's feet.

"Nobody moves!" The burly security guard ordered the three net gliders with deadly seriousness. A large, chrome finished laser weapon swept over the three teammates with steady precision. "Nobody leaves this room until we find out what happened here!"

"No . . . we can still save him!" Elisabeth ignored the warnings of the security guard. She had recovered from her momentary shock and focused her thoughts, easily taking on the role of Net Leader once more. She pushed her fractured emotions deep, lest they shake her concentration. She stood across from Justin and surveyed the inert body with a critical eye. "His icon is still intact, somewhere in cyberspace. With the Epsilon Nine recovery program still running, if it works, we can . . ."

"I turned it off," Justin interrupted quietly.

". . . recall his consciousness into another vessel, a cyber vessel or . . . You what?"

"I turned it off." Justin shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, look, it's hopeless anyway . . ."

"You . . . you . . . just killed him . . ." Elisabeth threw her hands into the air in exasperated frustration.

"Somebody murdered him," Mahlon voiced the subject they had all avoided up to this point. He looked from the net leader to the body in stuttered fear. "Somebody, somebody in this room, killed him," he continued, finally voicing the obvious.

"Impossible," Elisabeth stated with forced bravado. "We were all together."

"Everyone in this room is a suspect," the security guard reported coldly. "There is only one entrance, and we were standing guard the whole time. This is a capital crime, and an act of treason! The murderer came from within this room, of that we can be certain!"

"No. We were all on the net, we were together the whole time," Elisabeth shook her head.

"Umm . . . no we weren't," Mahlon interjected. "When we set the triad, to establish the bridge into the Neon Angel's program, we split up. We were each separate for . . . maybe, twenty minutes?"

"And don't forget about Elemental!" Justin added accusingly. "We haven't seen him since we separated! Where is he now? He could have come and been gone without anyone noticing!"

"Ephraim couldn't have done this!" Elisabeth defended.

"Well look, 'Commander', I didn't kill him! And the shock if I get blamed for this!" Justin declared angrily. "What if Elemental turned traitor? He could have given the Neon Angel the technology that created him! There might be more just like him all over the net by now!"

"We'll know soon enough," the security guard stated, his weapon still primed and aimed at the group. "How are you coming on those security monitors?" he asked his partner. The other guard was busy at a locked box on a wall near the door.

"They're almost ready . . . there!" he finished with confidence. He stepped back to view an overhead monitor. Everyone's eyes were drawn to a number of view screens around the room that began to brighten as the images took form there.

The pictures flickered to life, showing a full view of the room. There in the center of the screen lay Doom, quiet but apparently unharmed at the glider bed. The other three net gliders were visible in the background, all prone and motionless on their beds as their separate consciousnesses traveled through the electronic cyber realm. The recording continued for several minutes unchanged until . . . the image suddenly turned to snow!

"What?" the security guard started to frantically push the buttons on the console, but nothing happened. The recording was lost to some sinister sabotage!

"I don't shockin' believe it! Fix it, bithead!" the first guard spoke angrily. "Fix it now or we'll be kissing the garrison for sure!"

"I'm trying! I'm trying!" the other answered, the hint of panic in his voice, as he tugged at some wires desperately.

The three net gliders stood for a moment in wordless silence. Then their eyes turned to each other, and each one began to wonder if the other could have committed this heinous feat. Even Elisabeth began to look at her trusted teammates with uncharacteristic suspicion.

Latveria cyberspace.

Duke Stratosphere was about to give up. He wandered the cyber halls of Doom's castle at the heel of the program's tour guide in abject silence. He had been sure that there would be some clue in the castle that would tell him more about the mysterious black box he had recovered from the cybernetic guts of Myridia. Now, he wasn't sure if he would ever find out what it was, and he was seriously contemplating copying the box to hard disk and filing it away in his cache of "irretrievable programs". His cyber guide had taken him through three galleries and four libraries, providing him full access thanks to the codes purloined from the Paloma program. But it was all for naught, and Duke was beginning to feel the ache in his bones, even though his icon lacked the neuro-receptors of a real body. His real body was holed up on Pixel's floating blimp, the Cicada, permanently moored at their summer headquarters in northern Spain. He had checked back on his semi-comatose flesh periodically, to ensure that it had not been disturbed, but he would have to return to it soon, if for nothing else than to eat and bathe, or the smell might begin to draw unwanted attention! The cyber guide before him chatted personably about the gleaming rows of armor and medieval tapestries adorning the wide hallway through which they were passing, but he barely heard her.

"This represents one of the Master's early armor designs, and to the left you can see our Lord's coronation suit from when Prince Rudolfo abdicated the throne in . . ."

Duke looked briefly up at the wall. "Maybe if I make the jump to . . ." he mumbled absently to himself, and suddenly stopped. He stood as if struck by lightning, staring open mouthed at the wall in front of him. A wide smile suddenly creased his rugged features.

He had found himself standing in front of an enormous tapestry. It hung from a rod twenty feet above him, with gold tassels brushing languidly across the stone floor. There was an elaborate border sewn in gold thread on a deep maroon background, in a style that was as ancient as it was timeless. But the style was of less interest to Duke than the content. His eyes took in a panorama of an ancient battleground, with warriors from another era on horseback and on foot, fighting a dark and faceless enemy. The armor that the warriors wore was at once distinctive and familiar to Duke: he recognized it as the same style of armor worn by the slain soldiers he had stumbled upon in the slowly disintegrating Myridian program. The same program where he had retrieved the mysterious black box {_See Doom UG #41_}. A few of the buildings were even rendered along the edge of the battle, and Duke recognized them also from that program. Even the arched bridge where he had made his desperate escape from permanent deletion was visible in the distant background. Dominating the center of the tapestry was a single armored figure that somehow held sway over the entire battlefield. Amazingly, it was a woman, in a pure silver armor that covered all but her head and a cascade of curly black hair. Rays of light surrounded her body, which was depicted as if glowing from within. Her arms were spread wide, and in one hand she gripped a heavy broadsword, blade pointed down. The other hand was open, palm up, and empty, as if offering something. Despite the battle raging all around her, her face was calm and peaceful. Her eyes were closed. She was stunningly beautiful, almost angelic, and imbued the tapestry with a palpable grace and majesty. Duke was intrigued. Not only was he that much closer to finding out the secret of the box, but he had a new mystery to solve. What exactly was the story behind the tapestry? And who was this beautiful woman?

"What does this tapestry represent?" he asked aloud, forcing a nonchalant interest in his voice. Although the guide was a simple program, there was no telling what type of attitude recognition capabilities it might be imbued with. No need to trigger any alarms at this point.

The Guide stopped its automatic tour guide narrative, and back tracked respectfully to where Duke stood in the hall. She looked up at the wall hanging. "This depicts a story from gypsy history, a battle that predates modern civilization," she explained. "It is a story from the colonization of eastern Europe by the roving gypsy tribes of Zefiro, Sinte and Boyash."

"Which ones are the gypsies?" Duke asked.

"Why, the armored warriors, of course," the Guide answered pleasantly.

"Ahh . . . I didn't know that the gypsies wore such elaborate armor," he commented.

"Many of the gypsies of the past were skilled metal smiths," the Guide continued patiently. "They sold their wares as they traveled, but saved the finest armor for their own use, usually hidden away so as to avoid detection by the authorities."

"And who is the woman in the center?" Duke asked cagily.

The Guide looked at him with a vacant stare and a vapid smile on her pretty face.

"Searching . . ." she said blankly.

Before she could complete her search, there was a brilliant flash and a palpable shudder as if the castle had been struck by lightning, coming from the other end of the hallway. Duke instinctively covered his head as mortar fragments rained down from above, and the heavy tapestry waved menacingly in a brief wind.

"What the shock?" Duke muttered from under his wide hat.

_"I remember . . ." _

The essence of his being coalesced around this memory, grabbed it like a lifeline, and struggled to focus on the certainty of it. Struggled to pull the memory and hence himself out from an abyss that was dark and dimensionless space.

"I am Doom. I am Doom!"

This is the mantra which keeps me sane. The words seem surreal, as if they mean nothing. But saying them somehow makes me think that there was such a thing as Doom, such a thing as the man I barely remember. It is something around which my mind can focus, as if in somehow being this "Doom" I can understand something important. Something other than dreams and pain and creatures in the darkness that I can neither touch nor hear nor see. Creatures that bring the pain, and the pain that means only that I am still alive. Alive and in a hell that would continue until I died. But then when I died, and there was that moment of peace where I knew that I had died, and in dying escaped the pain, I was reborn again. Reborn into a world of pain where all I can remember is the name. The name and the pain that was draped over the very fiber of my being, pain that was the totality of my existence, the only real thing I knew. Other than the words I repeated over and over in my mind, response to a long forgotten command or question. "I am Doom."

"I am Doom!"

And I am falling . . . falling? Falling naked from the sky, my skin on fire as if new born. The land rushes up to meet me. There is a whoosh of air as the impact slams through my lungs. I have no breath . . . I am a dream! No, there is pain still. Pain that returns as gasping for breath I pull the sweet air back into my fractured lungs. Pain and the smell of blood and earth. The smell of Earth! Home! I am alive!

"I am Doom!"

"I am . . . Home?"

Doom looked up from the smoke and debris that surrounded him in sudden confusion. He recognized at once the thick stone walls and medieval hallways of his Latverian castle. But was this his true castle or some infernal cybernetic representation? His icon had bounced from one vague corner of the cyber universe to the other in an attempt to return to normal c-space after the Neon Angel's program had disintegrated beneath his metal boots (_see last issue!_). He had seemed to have little control over where the Epsilon-Nine retrieval program deposited him. Instead, his icon was being swept through the dark void with every stray thought he had, and the rapid spatial dislocation had a distinctly disorienting side effect that would have driven any lesser man insane. But he was Doom, and all it had done so far was to put him in a very foul mood.

From the other end of the hallway, Duke instantly recognized the icon of Doom, Master of this house. He wasn't certain whether this was some security function of the program, having somehow detected his presence, or if this was the indeed the real Doom. He wasn't about to wait around to find out though, and he began to enter escape coordinates into a control band he wore on his wrist.

"Searching . . ." the Guide said insipidly, still trying to answer Duke's question, apparently unaware that the Lord of the Castle had suddenly materialized in their midst. Doom turned unexpectedly and his eyes narrowed in upon Duke Stratosphere, standing, incredulously, in his Castle!

"You!" Doom spat with unrestrained contempt. "You are the ingrate who handed me over to the assassin, Fever!" (_see Doom 2099 # 7_) Doom pointed at the momentarily dumbstruck hacker. "Say your prayers, net glider, you are about to pay for that transgression with your life!" Quick as a cobra, Doom raised his armored gauntlets to fire upon the unwelcome intruder.

"Uh . . . wait . . ." Duke began, desperately finalizing his escape coordinates. Yet before that battle could be engaged, there was another brilliant flash and a whirlwind cyclone swept the hall between them. When the smoke had cleared, Doom had once again disappeared, as if he had never been there. Duke stopped his frantic programming and stared back down the hallway. There was no sign of Doom. Stranger still, he could detect nothing that indicated that the program had been breached, or that any internal security had been activated. "That was too weird," Duke muttered aloud.

"Searching . . ." the Guide continued. "There is no information on the identity of this individual. Accurate gypsy history is notoriously lapse in many areas, since the gypsies did not use traditional methods to record their histories until late in the 20th century. Shall we continue with the tour?"

Duke looked back down the hall where Doom had been. "What was that anyway?" he thought. "Some glitch? Did I trigger some half finished security program? Or am I getting close to something? Hmmm . . ." Duke's stellar career up to that point had been benefitted by his good instincts, and his faith in those insights. When he began to get nervous like this, it meant that he was getting close to something big. Just how big he wasn't sure. But if it was any indication, he was really nervous!

"I want to know more about this tapestry," Duke commanded.

"Incomplete data available. Access denied."

"Oh? Is that so?" Duke smiled in bemused defiance.

In Southeast Africa, not far from the heavily fortified border that separated Mozambique from TKU, the Tanzania-Kenya-Uganda Environmental and Conservation Cooperative, a lone figure walked slowly through the thick, waist high golden grass. William Winston Sinclair III carried a heavy stun rifle cradled easily in his arms, and his calm gray eyes scanned the wild landscape continuously beneath his wide brimmed hat. The sun blazed down out of a crystal blue sky, and the back of his neck was turning slightly red where the brown curls of his hair failed to cover the skin above his collar. He stepped carefully through the brush, like a skilled hunter, deftly following a barely defined trail in the tall grass. The distant yip of a clan of hyena made him stop in his tracks, expertly judging the distance and direction to those potentially deadly predators. Unconcerned, he continued forward on his trek. Sinclair reached a small hill, and began to steadily climb it. The African landscape was littered with these kopjes, a rocky outcropping that was a refuge for the smaller animals living along the edge of the plains: baboons, meerkat, pikas, jackals and even leopards. Lions sometimes sheltered cubs in the larger ones as well. This one was taller than most, and seemed to be devoid of the normal population of small creatures that usually occupied them. Sinclair looked around carefully, listening and testing the wind as he continued to scramble up the large boulders. He kept his gun at the ready, setting it down only to adjust a handhold as he climbed. A large bird circled overhead, crying a high piercing warning. A slight wind stirred the leaves of the young trees that pushed up between the massive grey rocks. Sinclair stopped and crouched on top of one of those boulders, instantly aware that the wind had suddenly changed direction. That small puff of breeze, and he knew at once that his position had been revealed to his intended prey!

No matter how many times he had stared into the eyes of a fully grown male lion, it had never failed to bring his heart to the edge of panic. Even from the safety of a plexiglass enclosure, there was something primeval about those piercing amber eyes that could stare right through you. Now he faced a rogue lion, a big solitary male that had been stalking and killing men for the last three months, and he knew that the line between predator and prey was suddenly blurred. The lion had appeared like lightning from the other side of the kopje, and stared down at the man on the rocks below it. Its mouth was slightly open, red tongue and huge white teeth neatly framed by that full, dark mane. For Sinclair, it was an instant that lasted an eternity. He lifted the barrel of his high powered stun rifle in one swift, easy motion. The lion made no sound as rippling muscles tensed beneath its tawny hide, massive paws gathered beneath its body to leap. Sinclair aimed the weapon, knowing he would only get one shot.

In that moment his mind flashed to a decade ago on his father's estate in Scotland, where his parents were appalled to learn that their only son had joined the radical TKU, shunning a wealthy inheritance that had been passed on from father to son for generations. It was only a moment of distraction, less than a second. It was all the lion needed, it was that fast. The lion leaped into the air. With a silent whoosh, the stun gun fired at almost the same moment. The big cat twisted in mid air as the electrical charge coursed through its body, but its momentum kept it hurtling through the open space down toward the man. Sinclair ducked, but was clipped by one limp paw with enough force to tumble him off of the boulder into a copse of bushes below.

"Billy! Billy! Please reply to my call, please, Billy! Have you been injured?" A worried voice with a thick Indian accent pierced Sinclair's communications implant. Sinclair groaned, and picked himself up out of the bushes. He quickly retrieved his rifle and looked for the lion. The big male cat was motionless on the grass beside him, and a quick look at that huge heaving chest verified that it was still breathing. Billy picked up his fallen hat and brushed himself off with a few quick pats before replacing it onto his head. "Billy! Please to answer now!"

"I'm fine, Musleh", he finally answered. "I just took a little tumble."

"Praise Buddah," his partner sighed over the headset. "For a moment I thought you had met the maker."

"Well, the maker is going to have to wait a little while longer for me," Billy laughed easily. "If the devil doesn't get me first."

"And speaking of devils, what of our lion?" Musleh asked.

Billy stepped over to put a hand on the big cat cautiously. "He's fine," he answered.

"Get over here to pick him up and we'll get him back to the boys in the lab before he wakes up."

"I am already getting there," Musleh answered.

Billy looked up to see a rapidly approaching hover truck skimming silently towards the kopje. The little hover vessel was traveling rapidly over the rough terrain, floating only a few meters above the grass. He could see his partner in the open cockpit waving at him, and he lifted his hat to wave back. Turning away, he walked around the kopje once more, climbing to the top where a light breeze ruffled his loose shirt, drying the sweat that had soaked his back. Near the summit, he looked into a thick nest of bushes, hollowed out in the shape of the lion's body. This had been the big cat's nest, a cool spot for it to escape the hot African sun. The thick curtain of small trees and bushes had been enough to thwart any airborne surveillance they had attempted in the last few months. They ended up being forced to track the rogue lion the old fashioned way. A little ways off to the side, Billy found more of what he was looking for. A stash of bones was stacked under a hastily scraped pile of leaves and dirt. There was a half crushed human skull, along with the gnawed bones of other animals that had fed the big lion.

"This was the one all right," Billy said absently into his communicator. "I can see four, maybe five human remains up here. We'll have to send Lupe over to collect them all for identification . . . what the . ..?"

Billy stopped in mid-sentence. Something in the pile caught his attention. A long bone was sticking up out of the leaves, not unusual except that there was something not right about it. He reached in and pulled it out. It was a human bone all right, a femur from the upper right leg. It was in perfect condition, but then again Billy thought, it was too perfect. It was too white, and it seemed denser than normal human bones. All trace of flesh had been removed from the bone long ago, but it was still hard, and not the least bit brittle from sun nor aged by time. And even though it had lain in the lion's lair, Billy could detect only the faintest scratches upon its surface. It was as if the bone had resisted all attempts at gnawing.

"What the what?" Musleh queried on the other end. "What have you found?"

Billy turned the bone over in his hands. There was a series of marks on one side, alternating lines in a pattern of thick and thin etched in a deep black ink. Bar code, Billy thought with puzzled anxiety. "I don't know," he finally answered, turning the strange bone over and over in his hands. "But I intend to find out."

Another puff of wind tugged at Billy's hat, threatening to push it off of his head. Billy looked to the clear sky. It was the same wind of change that had betrayed him. There was a storm coming.

In Myridia, the sweaty security guard was desperately trying to retrieve the video data from the security monitors, but he was having no luck. The other guard tried not to show the true fear he felt at having somehow been thwarted by a secret assassin while their Master lay defenseless.

"At least," he thought with base self-preservation, "at least Lord Doom himself is no longer here to punish us. Maybe there will be mercy from the council." He turned to his companion, finally realizing that a quick solution to this case may not be forthcoming. "I'm going to call for back-up," he announced. "We'll have to send in a team to sweep the room," he added as he opened up his communications line.

"There will be no need for that, soldier."

The booming voice came into the room from the open doorway behind them. Everyone in the room looked toward the doorway, where a tall figure in silver and blue armor, with a green cape draping down over broad shoulders stood silhouetted by the light in the hallway. Then Lord Doom stepped into the room and marched toward the little group that still stood in shock around what they had thought was his body on the net glider table. The net gliders looked from the armored figure on the bed to the one that strode into their midst in a moment of dismay. The mask and armor were perfectly alike, but no one could so thoroughly duplicate that authoritative voice and confident stride. "My lord . . . ?" Elisabeth said breathlessly. "Is that you?"

"Of course it is, who else would it be?"

"We . . . we thought you were dead!" Mahlon stuttered breathlessly.

"Premature," Doom countered, stepping up to the table where the other "Doom" lay. "Although someone has gone to considerable effort to make it so."

"My lord!" Elisabeth said with considerable relief. "I never thought you would make it! How did you escape c- space? We turned off the Epsilon program thinking you were gone!"

"Yes, so I noted. The program had recovered my icon and set the coordinates for my safe return, although the path was somewhat fragmented," Doom understated smoothly. "Still, once I tuned into the appropriate data stream I was able to navigate back to real space. It is not the usual method I prefer for testing a new program, but the results were satisfactory."

"But where were you?" Mahlon asked. "Your body, I mean."

"My body was held in an adjacent room, in a secure chamber," Doom replied. "As you may recall I was already in cyberspace when you joined me there." He turned briefly to face the two security guards. "Consider this a test which you have failed," he told them coldly, and motioned to two other guards at the doorway. "Take them both away, I will not suffer such incompetence in my presence!"

Doom turned back to the table, ignoring the stuttering protestations from the two former security guards as they were forcibly led away. He eyed the three net gliders through glowing red eyepieces. Stepping up to the bed, he placed a massive hand gently on the back of Justin's neck, and looked closely down at the body that was not him.

"Someone went to a great deal of trouble for this," he repeated, a calm sort of amusement in his voice. He examined the chest wound closely. "They used a very rare and potent acid, which did considerable damage to the mock up armor this poor fellow wore. And then a well placed knife, serrated by the look of it. Very effective."

"Lord Doom," Elisabeth declared with surprise, "you knew this was going to happen?"

"I had surmised that an assassination attempt was imminent, yes," Doom replied, casually removing the cybernetic connections from his double's mask.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"No one is above suspicion," Doom replied ominously. "Including you, my dear. Of this I had to be certain. I will not jeopardize my regime here to defend against a multitude of petty political squabbles and hidden agendas. I like to have my enemies out in the open, where I can see them. Wouldn't you agree, Justin?" Doom's hand closed ever so slightly on the back of Justin's neck.

"Y- yes, of course," Justin answered, returning Doom's steely gaze with tight jawed fortitude.

"Well who was in the armor then?" Mahlon asked from the other side of the bed.

"Let's see, shall we?" Doom said with an amused flourish. He connected a hidden port on the finger of one glove into a receptacle on the mask just behind the ear. With a faint release of compressed air the mask lifted off of its locks, and Doom gently pulled the duplicate mask away. The net gliders gasped almost in unison, and Elisabeth looked away as the dead eyes of the former Master Programmer Number 3 (_who was forcibly ousted by Doom in UG issue #41_) stared back at them. "Alas poor Yorick," Doom quoted wryly, "a fellow of infinite jest . . . it appears that the joke is on you this time."

"Why? Why him? He was locked up," Elisabeth protested weakly. "He could do nothing against you anymore!"

"You knew him? You admit that?" Doom demanded.

"Yes, of course I knew him," Elisabeth replied defensively, "he was a friend, he helped me get into the program. We all knew him," she added weakly.

"Your honesty is admirable," Doom commended, "but your loyalty is misplaced. He was a traitor, and he had an accomplice in this room." Doom placed the mask on an active terminal, pushing a button which connected it to the view screen. "The former Master Programmer had numerous contacts even while in prison here. I had agents who followed their movements, and followed the acid which was to be used against me. In the end, I identified all of his allies but one, one who knew the system too well, one who covered his tracks with remarkable skill. But I knew that given an irresistible opportunity, that even he would fail and reveal himself." On the view screens above them an image recorded in the mask appeared furtively in the corner, visible through the red lenses as a dark shadow. It approached closer, until suddenly the face was full and clear before them. Justin's face appeared clearly at last, and was frozen there, bloody knife in hand.

Doom's hand closed tighter around Justin's neck, but the assassin did not struggle, accepting that his fate had been decided long ago. Doom addressed Elisabeth coldly. "When you are in a position of power, my dear, you will find that even those who you would call your friends cannot be trusted."

"Justin, why?" Elisabeth pleaded, shocked and stunned that he could have done this.

Justin looked at her with anger. "If you don't know now, you never will," he said cryptically.

Doom pushed Justin toward a waiting guard. "Lock him up for now," he ordered, "I have more important things to attend to."

In the massive underground complex where Doom had constructed his Energy Replication Mechanism to recreate the accident that transformed a meek programmer into the Elemental being, panic had taken hold. Dozens of technicians scurried about in a state of chaos. Alarms were sounding on every system, and the equipment seemed to be facing impending peril. If not for one man directing the activity, complete failure would have reduced the giant machine to molten slag long before now. But Doom would not allow it! Doom stood stoutly at his control panel, a calm hub in the whirl of movement around him. Every so often his hands played over a series of controls, like a skilled pianist at a favorite concerto. He watched the machine with complex understanding, listened to it's every breath, and barely glanced at the readouts on the lighted holo displays floating before him.

"What is happening?" Elisabeth asked, just arriving in the room to report for her coming transformation. She was outfitted in the same yellow jumpsuit worn by the other techs, but she alone stood at Doom's side. Despite that, she was beginning to experience tremors of doubt, both in herself and in the armored monarch beside her. She was trying hard not to show it however, for she knew that it would displease him. She had become suddenly quite aware of the consequences of his displeasure.

"Elemental has entered the machine," Doom answered stoically, his eyes still riveted to his invention.

"How do you know that? What's he doing?" Elisabeth looked down from their perch towards the ERM, the machine that would transform her into an energy being just like Ephraim. She was afraid for him, and for herself. Ephraim had changed, and she no longer knew or understood the quiet little man that had worked at her side for so many years. She was no longer sure if she wanted those changes for herself anymore.

"He is attempting to destroy the ERM," Doom stated with calm assurance. "But he will fail. Doom is the master of this machine, and I will not allow some insubordinate rogue to interfere with my plans! My genius created this device to withstand even the attacks from the cyber world! He will submit to my greater intellect, or die trying!"

"Master," one of the technicians informed him, "it's working! Containment is at 75%!"

"Of course it's working, ignorant dolt!" Doom yelled down at him. "Prepare the team for extraction!"

A team of security technicians activated a circular containment generator on a raised platform at the center of the room. A large cone shaped beam projector was lowered down from the ceiling, stopping three meters above the platform. When all was in place, Doom activated a switch, and light beams from above and below merged instantly to form a brilliant glowing cylinder.

"Beginning the extraction process . . . now," Doom announced as he adjusted his controls and pushed a series of buttons at his podium.

Inside the cylinder, a human like form begin to take shape. The creature inside materialized only partially, and appeared to be struggling against the process. The form was opaque, barely defined, a hazy outline with a strange, ghost-like quality to it. The body writhed in torment as more and more bits of his essence were brought into the field. Skinny arms flailed against the energy barrier that held him. He turned to face Doom, wordless anger and burning rage evident on his face. He caught the eyes of the woman who stood beside his captor, and Elisabeth gasped as she recognized the once gentle features of her friend Ephraim Cvijanovic transformed in this way. The creature now known as Elemental suddenly ceased his struggles, and collapsed, fully formed, on the floor of his cage.

Doom stepped down to admire his handiwork, calmly escorting Elisabeth to the platform. "Welcome, Elemental," he began smugly. "You will find that the negative energy barrier resists any attempt to breach the containment. It has been designed with your specific energy patterns in mind. There will be no more of your interference with my plans!"

Elemental glared down at Doom with undisguised anger. "How did you track me down?"

Doom checked some readings on the containment vessel and looked back at Elemental with amusement. "Silly boy, do you think I would let you fly around the cyberverse without some means of tracking you?" Doom put a hand to his chin in droll arrogance. "The suit you wear, the unstable molecules necessary to maintain your modesty, has a unique tracking device interwoven into the very molecules of which it is made. With it, I have followed your every move. You are far too valuable to have you running loose without an appropriate collar."

"I have done what you asked!" Elemental pleaded, fear and fatigue replacing his anger. "The Neon Angel will bother us no more! What more do you want from me?"

"Nothing, my friend," Doom answered smoothly. "Nothing but the genetic codes locked inside your DNA. With those codes and this machine, I will create an army of elemental soldiers able to traverse the electronic media, and then appear as solid at any terminal station in the world. In time, they may even be able to travel radio waves into the depths of space, to explore the farthest reaches of the universe. With these soldiers at my command, wars fought over arbitrary borderlines drawn in the sand will be passé'. Conquest of countries will be as simple as controlling the information channels on which they depend. I will unite this world under one banner, under one rule. My Rule! With a small elite cadre of electronic soldiers under my command, there will be no one, not the megacorps, not the fledgling super heroes of this generation, not even Herod and his domain of despicable evil who could thwart my right to rule this world! Elisabeth will be the first, but there will be many others to follow, as willing to serve as you have been reluctant."

"Elisabeth, no . . .," Elemental looked down on her, pain and fear clear in his eyes. Elisabeth approached him slowly, looking up at him, sad to see him trapped, guilty at her own part in this drama. He had changed so much, he hardly seemed human anymore. His silvery skin, so fluid it reflected the yellow light from the containment cell, was alien to her. The eyes, once a dull gray were now a vivid, electric blue. But his quiet, unassuming essence, his shy but affectionate presence was still intact. He wasn't a warrior, he never had been, and now he was a victim of an accidental transformation that he never asked for.

"You don't want to do this, Elisabeth, please . . ." Elemental sighed quietly as she approached. "You don't want to become like me, you don't know what it is like. This is not living. It is a living Hel. You have no idea how much I wanted to be by you, to live by your side for eternity. But not like this!"

Elisabeth approached closer, touched by the emotion of his confession. She placed a hand up to the barrier, and he tried to touch it, but was driven back by the electronic force field.

"I never knew you felt that way . . ." Elisabeth whispered.

Elemental shook his head, rubbing a hand absently over the bald crown in a familiar gesture. "It was not meant to be, for me . . ." he said, choking back his emotion. "Please do not go through with this. By Odin's breath I swear to you! Humanity was not meant to live like this!"

Doom stood behind Elisabeth and slowly applauded with mock adulation. "Bravo, bravo," he said cynically. "I'm touched by the depth of your pathos. But you always were a pathetic creature, Ephraim. I doubt you really understand anything of how humanity was meant to live, cooped up like your pigeons in a wire cage of your own making, lacking either in the courage or the imagination to look beyond these walls. Leave the living for those who have some experience, boy!" he added angrily. "Only those with vision and courage will be the ones who can break free of the man made prisons of society to forge a new world of light and order!"

Elemental dropped his eyes in self-recriminating shame, and turned his back on them. Elisabeth turned to look at Doom with a new understanding. Her gaze was no longer one of admiration.

"Now," Doom stated coolly. "Shall we continue with the procedure?" He gestured to the technicians, motioning them to begin the DNA extraction. A strange device with a long hypodermic needle attached to one end, was rolled up to Elemental's cage. "Elisabeth," Doom continued softly but with the tone of a command, "it is time for you to take your position within the ERM."

Elisabeth paused, and did not move from her place near the cage. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as the long needle prepared to pierce Elemental's cage and extract the DNA sample necessary to make the ERM work.

Doom looked quietly at the hesitant net leader, and then motioned easily to the guards who were standing by. They began to approach her from either side. Elisabeth looked up at last and met Doom's red lenses with her own fierce eyes.

"No," she said at last, "I will not."

Elemental turned suddenly around, hope at last in his eyes, and pressed as close as he dared to the wall of his jail.

Doom sighed ever so slightly, and motioned with a subtle gesture at the guards to back off. He approached her calmly, cautiously. "You should change your mind about that," Doom stated dispassionately. "This is what you want, remember? Power. Limitless access. Eternal beauty . . . " he reached out to touch her face. She backed up against the cage, and turned her face away from his touch. Doom dropped his hand, clenching it into a fist.

"This is wrong," she said firmly. She looked up at Elemental, whose silent gaze met her eyes with pride and wordless encouragement. "Ephraim is right, this is not how it is meant to be. Net gliding is about freedom, and information. It is not about war and conquest.

"Don't be so naive, girl," Doom answered with muted anger. "Information is power, and it is the power base upon which this nation is built. The elemental power is just another tool to use to maintain that power, to ensure security. If we don't exploit it, and use it, then someone else will. It is only a matter of time, now. Would you sacrifice this nation, because you were afraid to evolve?"

"No! You're twisting what I said!" Elisabeth shook her head fiercely, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "You don't just want security, you want control . . . control of everything! And the elementals won't just maintain order, they'll become your personal assassins!" She hissed the last word, desperately trying to maintain her composure.

"Come now, Elisabeth," he whispered seductively. "Once we've established our intent, no one would dare to oppose us. The threat of violence will be all we need to maintain order. If not you, then there are many others among you who are ready now to take this step into another dimension." He reached up to gently wipe the tear from the corner of her eye. "You are not one to be left behind. You want this, I know it."

Elisabeth felt the cold metal of his hand against her cheek, and felt him move slightly closer to her. She placed her hand on his, and in the moment she felt him relax, she strengthened her resolve. "No! Never!" she cried, and grabbing his hand she yanked hard on it, forcing it through the barrier behind her.

Doom's armored glove, shielded against most energy forms, passed through that electronic barrier easily. To Elemental's credit, he was ready on the other side of his prison. Doom lost his balance only for an instant, but in that instant Elemental grabbed the hand that penetrated his cage. Doom locked angry eyes with Elemental, and the man who once cowered at his feet smiled ever so briefly. In a nanosecond, Doom realized the danger he was in, but before he could activate a shield, Elemental was inside his armor's cybernetic system. Doom pulled away from the now empty cage, his armor suddenly electrified from within. His normally fluid movement was clumsy and off balance, as he struggled to control the armor's motor systems, suddenly corrupted by Elemental's presence.

With a terrible mounting anger, Doom turned back toward Elisabeth. He grabbed her, his fury the only thing that kept Elemental from stopping him. "You insolent wench!" he yelled, backhanding Elisabeth across the face, and sending her sprawling across the floor with a bloody gash in her lip.

Inside his armor, Elemental cried out in his own rage and began to systematically sever the armor's cyber matrix systems. In an instant, Doom no longer had complete control of his armor. Elemental was assaulting his very skin. Doom focused his mind on accessing secure programs to shut down his internal nanotechnology, attempting to bypass Elemental's efforts and force the creature out. But Elemental didn't plan on staying, he had other ideas. Doom's armored gauntlets lifted involuntarily, and the mighty weapons began to randomly fire upon the ERM, the security team, technicians, and anything else of value in the room. Massive explosions shook the underground complex in a series of uncontrollable chain reactions, and yellow suited technicians fled in panic.

Doom was like a puppet inside his own armor, fighting for control against this unseen enemy. But whereas Doom had spent no less than two lifetimes inside his armored shell, Elemental was a novice. He had yet to discover the full extent of the armor's power, or the systems over which he had control. He had the power to cause great harm to Doom's physical body, but Doom was blocking access wherever he could, unwilling to relinquish control. More weapons blasted away at the ERM, and security forces hesitant to fire upon their Master, holstered their weapons and fled to where they hoped they could watch in safety.

"Arrghhh!" Doom yelled in angry frustration. He could sense Elemental's presence through his internal systems, and had initiated an advanced anti-viral protocol to eradicate the intruder, but it would take time. Meanwhile the ERM had taken several hits from his own armor, and fire was beginning to break out in portions of the room.

"Security!" Doom ordered, "access the multi-phasic mobile security shield! Get me into a containment cell! Now you brainless dolts!" Doom moved towards one of the control boards, fighting Elemental's hold on his armor and winning, if only just barely.

One of the security guards ran from his hiding place and activated a shield generator. In the next instant a clear shield lowered down over Doom, limiting his access and preventing Elemental from doing any more harm. Doom had yet to regain full control, but once inside the shield he could concentrate on evicting his assailant. He turned to see something else he had missed. Through the haze and smoke of the room, he spotted Elisabeth, struggling to rise and coughing from the smoke on the other side of the main platform. "Security!" Doom ordered again. "Grab the girl! Don't let her escape! She may still be useful in controlling Elemental!"

Doom felt as much as heard the ruptured cry of "No!" coming from somewhere within his systems. That seemed to have had the intended effect, and Doom was ready now. The essence of Elemental slithered out of the armor, and reformed as a solid being beside Doom. But Elemental found himself standing inside an electric cage with the thoroughly enraged monarch. Doom wasted no time, activating a shield that would prevent Elemental from re-entering his armor, as he grabbed the traitor by the throat and slammed him to the floor, careful to keep him away from any electronic systems that he might attempt to enter.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance, Ephraim," Doom hissed from inches above Elemental's face. "Now you will pay for your impudence!"

Meanwhile, one of the guards ran up to Elisabeth, intent on holding her. The resourceful Net Leader was far less incapacitated than she appeared, however. As the guard approached, she rose up and slammed a fist into his groin area. The guard crumpled, and her other fist came down hard across his neck. He collapsed to the ground, but more guards were on the way. Elisabeth grabbed the giant rolling hypodermic that was behind her. Freeing the wheels, she pointed it at the approaching security officers. The three foot long needle glimmered menacingly in the flickering fire light. The lead guard stopped, eyeing that sharp point in terror.

"Don't be afraid of a little needle, boys," Elisabeth shouted derisively, and shoved the rolling hypodermic toward them. The guards scattered in retreat, and Elisabeth began to look for her own way out.

"Psst! Elisabeth! Over here!"

Elisabeth looked to a side door that opened up out of the smoke. "Mahlon?" she said as she recognized her teammate. She ran to the open doorway. "Mahlon, you don't want to get involved in this . . ."

"Too late Commander," Mahlon said with a wry smile. "I heard the security alert over the net. I'm with you, Elisabeth, and I'm not the only one. We've got a backdoor off the island, but we have to go now!"

"But what about Elemental?" Elisabeth cried as they rushed headlong down a darkened corridor.

"I don't know, " Mahlon answered. "He'll have to take care of himself."

In the control room, Doom held Elemental securely by the throat, his weight pinning the energy being to the floor. A tightly contained field around Elemental's neck prevented him from using his powers of intangibility to escape. But Elemental struggled nonetheless.

"There can be no escape for you now, dissident scum!" Doom hissed menacingly. "The girl won't escape either." Doom turned away to address his security team once more, still scattered and struggling against the flames and explosions inside the ERM. "Security, lower this shield and reestablish the containment cylinder!"

"I would rather die than serve you!" Elemental groaned with bestial fortitude.

"That can be arranged," Doom purred easily, "after we've extracted the DNA codes from inside your cells!"

"No! I won't allow it!" Elemental reached his hand up past Doom's restraining glove, and with the tip of his finger he touched the force field that still surrounded the pair.

"What the . . .?" Doom stated in genuine surprise.

The energies were intense, and far more than even Elemental could withstand. But his power began to accelerate to match the harmonics of the field, and in a moment he became the field. He smiled knowingly up at Doom. Underneath Doom's unrelenting grip, Elemental began to disintegrate, fragmenting into geometrically shrinking bits of color and light until there was nothing left. Doom released his grip on nothing, and stood up.

"Did Elemental just commit suicide before my eyes?" he thought, "Or did he escape through the energy barrier somehow?" He looked up at the energy beam generator above him. Through the eyepieces of his mask, he could detect an abnormal energy fluctuation. If Elemental lived, he was fractured into a billion pieces of matter and energy that may never coalesce to form a cohesive unit, a living being in the sense that he understood it. Still . . .

Doom turned to his security forces once more. "Track him!" he ordered impatiently. "Now, you curs! And somebody lower this shield!"

Security officers rushed to carry out his orders, but were delayed in finding an active system in the midst of the fire and confusion. As soon as the shield was down, Doom stalked up to one of the control panels and hunched over it. It was useless, the lights were dark, the buttons unresponsive. Angrily, he hastened the equipment's demise by smashing a metal fist through the controls.

He stood up and gazed dispassionately over the now ruined underground complex. Smoke surged through man sized craters in the vanquished machine. Fire, now under control, had blackened intricate connections and miles of wiring were shattered, splayed uselessly upon the floor. There was no sense in wasting any further energy on this venture. He turned to the nearest security officer. "Prepare my ship." he growled coldly, and turned to march out of the smoke filled room, his green cape whipping lividly behind him as if in the winds of a fierce storm.

Duke Stratosphere had tapped into all sorts of intriguing data from Doom's cybernetic castle. He had hacked into a plethora of remarkably detailed security data. He had found a secret recipe for the castle baker's special baklava with loganberry sauce. He had even accessed some of Doom's personal diaries. And other than gaining a better appreciation for the true depths of Doom's colossal ego, he had yet to find anything useful to describe the tableau on the giant tapestry, or to explain what exactly was in the small black box. He removed the box from the deep coat pocket where it had been hidden, and set it on a nearby table. The tour guide had been disabled, and the beheaded remains of her programmed body lay crumpled against the stone wall. Duke had used the head to bypass some of the security locks, wisely taking the time to disconnect her sound card before he did so. The mute head looked at him now in obvious disdain, her mouth moving but no sound coming from her electronic lips. She suddenly looked at the box, seeing it now for the first time as Duke stared at it quizzically, and her mouth snapped shut. Duke missed her reaction, and instead picked the box up again to examine it for the thousandth time.

A noise from the other end of the hallway caught his attention, and he set the box back down on the table as he stood up. He readied himself, like a gunfighter, for something big that was coming his way. Squinting, he could finally make out a human figure marching down the hallway directly towards him. The fractured light and dark shadows prevented him from getting a good look at the newcomer, but the flash of light on silver gloves and boots, and the green cape that trailed like wings behind him, were nearly foolproof indications that Doom had returned. The monarch approached wordlessly, striding with purposeful intent straight down the hall towards Duke. Duke had several alternatives already worked out, as he judged the distance between them and tried to anticipate what Doom would do, if this was indeed the real Doom and not some glitch like before. It was a moment later, when he remembered that he'd left the box on the table behind him, that he realized he had just made a crucial error. He turned quickly and reached for the box, but it was already gone.

Doom stood behind him, holding the box neatly in his gloved hand. Duke glanced back down the hallway at the Doom figure that was still marching towards him, and realized that he had been duped by the simplest of net glider tricks. The marching Doom, a holographic program mirror, faded away and was gone.

"The great Duke Stratosphere," Doom intoned deeply. "We meet again at last. Only this time, you are in my domain, and I hold all the cards."

"Look, I didn't mean to trespass," Duke stated bravely. "I was just going to return this program that I found and be on my way. So, there you have it, and, I'll just be on my way now."

"You will go nowhere, dog," Doom growled. At a gesture the doors and windows of the cybernetic room were closed like steel traps. Two enormous guards, easily eight feet tall with spiked hats and steel spears appeared at the doorways, their zombie like eyes closing in on Duke. "But you will die," Doom announced dispassionately.

EPILOGUE:

In Myridia, four days after the final disappearance of Elemental, a security team following a faint signal came upon a pile of clothes in an abandoned ventilation duct at the heart of the city. The clothes matched the description of the uniform Elemental was last seen wearing, and their readings verified that it was indeed the same one. The security team argued for an hour over who would bring this discovery to the attention of their commander, and hence the dreaded Lord Doom. In the end, they locked the clothes away into an evidence locker in a distant police warehouse. They filed a written report stating that some miscellaneous clothing had been discovered in the shaft, probably from a transient, and then they prayed that no one would ever notice it.

_** "All that we see or seem,**_

_** Is but a Dream within a Dream."**_

_** Edgar Allan Poe.**_

DS

July 7, 1997

**NEXT:** Doom and Duke finally duke it out! Who will be the lord of cyberspace? The secrets of the Box revealed at last! And prepare for the return of two characters from the pages of Doom 2099 as Doom takes a little jaunt into the mountainous wilderness of Karakorum! All this and Africa too! Be here! (Or there or wherever, doesn't really matter in cyberspace!)


End file.
